ChristmasInHisHeart (7 page)

Her words hit home better than any lecture she could’ve thought up. The idea of never seeing Dermot again caused Xander’s breath to hitch, his lungs to freeze up and refuse to accept the air he needed to live. Such a physical reaction had to mean something, right?

He relieved Shawna of the goblet again, this time taking the sips slower and enjoying them more. This wine deserved to be savored.

It wasn’t the only thing Xander wanted on his tongue, in his mouth, that deserved to be savored.

Chapter Seven

Xander had to agree with Macy, this flea market in Huntington—two towns over from Parkerburg—had the perfect selection of vintage clothes for Shawna’s Christmas gift. The woman had a fetish for previously worn clothing.

Macy had come to his rescue this morning when Prudence tried to force a new flavor latte on him—personally he had no desire to try a salted caramel snickerdoodle, hot or iced, beverage. There were only so many flavors you could add to a good cup of coffee before it turned into a science experiment.

After taking the bullet herself and convincing Pru only one of them needed to try it, they shared a table and enjoyed their coffee together. Macy appreciated a little coffee in her flavoring. It was a quick get-together. Xander had shopping to do and Macy promised to help her parents get their house ready for a Christmas bash next weekend.

That was when Macy gave Xander the address for the best place to buy vintage coats.

More than happy to drive the extra miles to the flea market, he kept reminding himself it was for the perfect Christmas gift for his best friend and didn’t have a damn thing to do with his four day streak wanting to shrink to three days. Yeah, sure, he didn’t need forty miles between him and a certain restaurant to keep his distance from one adorably cantankerous man and his deliciously enticing…

A throb began in his pants, forcing him to remember that this was a public place. He returned his attention to the array of jackets on display across the wall. He widened his smile as he eyed the perfect black velveteen mid-length duster with eyelet lace trim running down the front and at the cuffs, reminiscent of a loose flowing pirate type of shirt. Praying that it was Shawna’s size, he reached up and removed the garment from the display hook, quickly glancing at the tag inside. He stared at the numbers and letters on the tag and realized he had no idea what size Shawna wore, even if he could decipher the code on the label.

He held the coat by the shoulders up and away from him, examining the length and width. Finally he nodded to himself, yeah, sure it looked like it would fit her.

The older woman at the register smiled at him as she gently wrapped the duster in tissue before putting it in a mid-sized brown paper bag with looped twine handles. He signed the slip and accepted his receipt and went to peruse some of the other shops.

This flea market wasn’t like any he’d visited before. The ones his buddies and he used to frequent sold more mainstream merchandise—music T-shirts, incense, dried fruits, and all the dollar store rejects. Yeah, they were nothing like this one that specialized in beautiful and expensive antiques, woodworks made lovingly by hand, delicacies not readily available at the local grocery store and of course, the true lure for Xan—vintage clothing that wasn’t vintage just because it was old…but because it was classically timeless and well taken care of.

For the first time in four days, he felt his smile reach his eyes…and just like that the spirit of the season hit him again. Buying gifts for people always put his happy back in place.

He nodded at the people passing him, sharing his good cheer and receiving plenty back in return.

Xander rounded the corner and his jaw dropped to the ground. He couldn’t believe it. On his parent’s first wedding anniversary—before Xander was even an itch in his daddy’s pants—his father bought his mom a matching set of table lamps. They had wrought iron scrollwork at the base looping up a good twelve inches to the light bulb. A Tiffany glass shade sat delicately on top of the ornate metal. They were the ugliest lamps Xander had ever seen, and he still stood by that statement today, but his mom loved them. They were proudly displayed in her sitting room on matching end tables. Unfortunately, it didn’t matter what room they were stashed in, when a nine-year-old Xander decided to play fetch with their chocolate Lab nothing was safe. To this day Xander swears he only barely grazed that darn table when he ran past it. If he concentrated, he could still see the lamp rocking on its little ball feet…first to the right, then to the left, harder to the right…precariously teetering as if frozen in motion before it finally toppled over and landed glass shade first on the brick border of the fireplace.

Could it be that he really found another just like it? It wouldn’t be unheard of, his dad hadn’t special ordered the set or anything. In all reality there could be thousands out there and they’d just never come across one…until now.

Xander didn’t even bother trying to haggle with the man, which worked considering the price was within the range his mind accepted for the gift.

The man secured the lamp for safe travel before handing Xander his business card for future sales.

His arms full of gifts for almost all his family members, Xander figured it was time to call it a successful day. He headed for the exit closest to his car but someone mumbling from the right made him pause and listen.

Forty miles from Parkerburg…what were the chances? He was probably just hearing things because he wanted to. Maybe there really was some truth to that whole four day theory of his?

Xander shuffled a few more steps over and nonchalantly glanced around a very large and overbearing hutch.

Sure enough, not even a dozen feet in front of him was an ass that Xander would know anywhere. And the owner of that perfect derriere was leaning over a nice piece of woodwork that looked to be some sort of stool or table.

Xander kept very still while he waited and watched, not believing the fates actually played them this way. All doubts vanished when his chef straightened up, and Xander mumbled, “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

***

The prickle of awareness warned him. The hairs on the back of his neck rose…tension stiffened his spine. Dermot had only ever felt that particular intensity of awareness in one person’s presence.
Xander. Xander is here…somewhere.

It took a moment to get his breathing under control, to school his features, and his body, into tranquility. But no matter how smooth his face might seem, memories clamored at the back of his mind, the Dumpster kiss, the touch of Xander’s hand, and the enthralling rush of orgasm begged to be relived, refreshed.

Dermot stared at the rickety article of furniture in front of him, barely seeing it. His glance skittered side to side, darting around frantically trying to verify his suspicions without obviously searching for the man who’d haunted his dreams and his every waking moment.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

He spun around, coming face-to-face with the man himself, who for the first time in their acquaintance appeared less than happy. “Xander.” His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth, and that wicked tap dancing butterfly started his routine in Dermot’s belly again.

“That piece has potential.” Xander gestured at the stand with an armful of bags. “I don’t suppose Macy sent you over here?”

“Macy?” Confused, Dermot drank in Xander’s lean form, the sparkle in his eyes, the lush curve of his lower lip, the breadth of shoulders and length of thigh…Damn it! He shifted, grateful for the long coat that sheltered his lower body from view. “I told her I’d be here this morning. We need a little bit of seating for diners who have to wait for a table.” A flicker of pride kindled, and he rocked on his heels, remembering the small crowd of diners who’d stood in a cluster at the front of the restaurant on Friday night, chatting while they waited for a table.

“That’s a great idea.” They stood in awkward silence for a moment.

“What brings you here?” Dermot broke the silence, for some reason unwilling to just say good-bye and wander off.

“Christmas shopping. Macy recommended it. Did she send you as well?”

Dermot shook his head. “No, I told her about it. When she moved here, she had to furnish her apartment, and this is the best place to find good pieces without going into debt.” He snapped his jaw shut. Christmas shopping? Keep that in mind. He turned back to the stand. “This is kind of rickety, but some wood glue and a touch of paint and it will be perfect with the chairs I bought earlier.”

“I didn’t realize you were crafty.” Xander gestured at the stand. “It has a lot of potential.”

“I’m not crafty. Just thrifty.” The urge to walk away, run away, grew stronger, and the reminder that he and Xander were just too different to make things work wasn’t proving to be the deterrent he’d have hope it would be.

“Look…I’m done here. You look like you’re done, can we…talk?”

“I don’t really have time…” He realized how foolish that was. They were standing in a flea market…upscale, but nevertheless, a haven of the rejected. Obviously, he had nothing but time today.

“It’s Monday. You’re off on Mondays, the restaurant is closed.”

And Xander knew it too.

“We don’t really have anything to talk about, do we?”

“Well, you might not, but I have a few things I’d like to say, some things I’d like to get off my chest.”

His gaze wandered immediately to said chest, stretching a cashmere sweater beautifully. “Oh, um…”

“Great. So…you know this place. Where can we get a decent cup of coffee and some privacy?’

“I grew up here,” he mumbled, mesmerized by the way the bright red sweater rose and fell with Xander’s breaths. The way every movement, and the man seemed to talk with his hands, a lot, stretched the fabric tighter.

Grew up here. Huntington was the scene of his youth…and the greatest tragedy of his existence. Sobering, he jerked his head up, met Xander’s amused gaze, realized that the man had noticed his staring, and that his attitude had mysteriously changed in the last few seconds.

“I…” They did need to talk. He needed to tell Xander, let him down easy. Get rid of him. So he could go on about his peaceful, solitary existence. “I can’t do this here.” The broken sound of his own voice mortified Dermot, but the sudden sympathy, the warmth of Xander’s gaze followed immediately by the duality of his touch, which both offered solace and aroused lust, distracted him from the ghosts of Christmas past that haunted him.

“Where?” Xander asked gently.

“Can you just… Meet me at the back entrance of the restaurant in twenty minutes?”
Oh no…not your place again.
The memories of the last time Xander had been in his apartment had driven him here today, in search of seating he hoped to need.

Xander bit his lip, and Dermot stifled a groan as his body stirred in response to the innocent gesture. “Okay. I’ll meet you there. But Dermot, this is the third time I’ve chased you… And you need to know, I’m not the kind of guy who forces himself in where he isn’t wanted. I’ll follow you today, but it’s the last time.”

Dermot swallowed at the finality of the statement. He nodded slowly. It was what he wanted, wasn’t it? For Xander to quit pursuing him?

Liar.

“Just a minute and I’ll be ready to go.” He glanced across the booth to a mustachioed man in a leather jacket and boots. “How much for the stand?”

“For you? Twenty-five.” The leer in his voice made Dermot’s skin crawl.

“Forget it.”

“Okay, twenty.”

“Twenty?” Xander stepped up close to him and put a possessive hand on Dermot’s arm. “Honey, you can buy one in better condition at Goodwill for five dollars.”

A knowing smirk erased the dealer’s leer. “Oh, so that’s the story, huh? You like that look? I’ll go fifteen on the stand, but its genuine oak and an easy fix. You won’t find the same quality anywhere. Your boyfriend’s Goodwill piece likely comes from Walmart and is made of particle board and veneer. Last offer.”

Dermot didn’t shrug off Xander’s hand, but oh how he wanted to. Not because he didn’t like it, but because he liked it too much. That warm, steady pressure, reassuring and arousing, protecting.
He’s protecting me? From what? Unwanted advances?
His gaze wandered to the burly leather-wearing dealer. He could handle guys like that; they were basically harmless. Nevertheless, it felt kind of…good? Not to have to deal with it, to see the man back down without hesitation. “I’ll take it.” He told the dealer, handing over the twenty from his wallet. “And twenty is a fair price. Thank you.”

They walked in silence away from the booth until they came to a fork in the path. Dermot paused. “I need to go this way.” He gestured toward where he’d parked his car.

“I’m over here, at the edge of the lot.” Xander pointed in the opposite direction. “I’ll see you in half an hour, okay?”

Reluctantly, Dermot nodded and drew in a deep breath. With the much-needed oxygen came a whiff of Xander…sweat and cologne and just the faintest hint of pine and cinnamon and peppermint. For the first time in memory, those seasonal odors weren’t overpowered in his memory by the choking, cloying scent of smoke. They didn’t bring to mind the heartache and pain he’d long come to associate with the season. No…they just instilled in him an urgent desire for more…more closeness, more warmth, more Xander.

“Hey,” Xander called from behind him.

Dermot turned back, raising a brow in inquiry.

Xander reached out, lifted Dermot’s chin with his finger, and rubbed his thumb over his mouth, which automatically parted without Dermot’s approval. “Whatever it is? We’ll figure it out.”

“Huh?” That sexy, slow smile, the one that showed too many teeth and a month ago had destroyed Dermot’s patience, flashed across Xander’s face.
Where the hell does he get that confidence?
“Figure what out?”

“How to keep the smile in your eyes when there’s no Christmas in your heart.”