It was shaping up to be a lousy Christmas. Lousy, crummy, sucky—sure, I have a broader vocabulary than that but sometimes two syllables say it best, right?
Ok, so maybe it was only going to be slightly worse than one Christmas eve when Naomi and I got caught in that 24-hour diner somewhere in Montana during the ugliest blizzard in twenty years. I was around ten, and poor Mom—she kept trying to get me to buy in to the "quaintness" of it all.
Quaintness. Yeah, well, that's one word for it.
That winter, I'd contracted a head cold that had dehydrated me to the point where I was rummy with it. We'd just left a working cattle ranch where the cows were treated better than the ranch hands, since it was actually an illegal preserve for cattle that had been—well, liberated would be the appropriate word, I think. We'd had hardly any money and the only way we could pay for the watery soup we'd had at the diner was for Naomi to wait four hours worth of tables while I huddled in the little space beneath the cash register and tried not to cough. To this day I can still remember the noxious taste of the menthol cough drops that Bevvy, the other waitress, kept slipping to me along with hot lemon water. But the bad weather had made customers scarce, and it was a full eight hours later before we'd paid for the soup and Mom had made enough in tips to buy us two bus tickets to Casper.
Another awful Christmas in my life was my first in college. I was seventeen years old and left to roam around a mostly deserted campus while my few friends went home to their families. Some of them lived in town and had invited me to spend the holidays with them, but I declined the invitations I'd received. Believe me, I was well aware that I was the geeky, underaged brain guy with the social maturity of a slightly backwards squirrel. With this new-found freedom, I'd thought that I was pretty damn cool as I inhabited my own little world. All I'd needed to do was check in with the dorm mother once a day—and since she lived off campus, a phone call was good enough for her. Yeah, the supervision was lax but then I've always been good at getting people to understand that I can take care of myself. And if I sort of led her to believe that I was eighteen—no harm, no foul, right?
What had made that year so bad wasn't the loneliness. Sure, I missed my mom, but I was seventeen and living on my own, for God's sake. The whole world was my freaking oyster and I had the entire city of Cascade to explore.
The first blow was the closure of campus facilities for maintenance. This was before the internet and so the Rainier library was my first and best road to entertainment. No problem, I thought, that's what public libraries are for. Except that winter the city workers had called a wildcat strike and the libraries had to be shut down.
Then I was mugged. Oh, it wasn't that bad—I didn't get hurt or anything. A couple of badasses got all the money I had until the first of the year. I was reduced down to a place to live, which of course was more than a lot of people had, so I had no room to complain. I should have called the dorm mother but I was so embarrassed by the whole thing, I just couldn't. Hey—I defy anyone to act more mature at seventeen. Anyway, a few nighttime reconnaissance missions into the dorm cafeteria kept me from going hungry, and I still had candles for the menorah, but all in all it was a pretty disappointing holiday.
So, things could be a lot worse. I was healthy, Jim was healthy, all of our friends were fine. Naomi was in Aspen and planning to visit later in January. Crime was down and my hair was growing back—life was good.
Man, where did things go wrong?
Well, let's face it—it was me and my big mouth. I mean, I had Christmas eve and day off, free and clear. Even better, so did Jim. Now, the thing here is that I'm in love with Jim and he's in love with me. We just haven't vocalized it yet. How do I know? Well, I've been in love with the guy for years and I haven't really done a lot to hide it. In fact, I've made some pretty damn big gestures that pointed to that very fact and it's not my fault his skull is made of reinforced concrete. A neon sign would only be redundant at this stage.
How do I know Jim's in love with me? Easy. It's all about contrast. See, the way he treats me now is different than any way he's ever treated me before in our admittedly convoluted history. Small things, like touches and tugs and shoulder bumps have practically quadrupled since I became Jim's Official Partner (that's how I think of it, sometimes—in caps). The flirting was back, too—the shared glances, the inside jokes that amused us and annoyed everyone else, the subtext buried in some of our conversations—oh, yeah, there was a definitely sexual heat between us again. Maybe not the lusty fascination we'd felt for each other in the early days, the one we'd tacitly agreed to ignore because of our need to work together. No, this was different—this was attraction that had been tempered and enhanced by friendship, heartache—and love.
So then there's medium sized things—like Jim rubbing my feet after a long day. Granted, I sort of plopped them in his lap one night after having lost a foot race with some perp who I swear was part gazelle. A year ago I would've never tried something like that and even this time I'd done it as a joke. But instead of having my feet summarily dumped back on the floor, he'd grabbed one with both hands and started a firm massage on the sole. I can now say that having a sentinel rub your feet is practically an orgasmic experience; if this cop thing doesn't pan out, he'll make a fortune in reflexology. Although, on second thought, he can only keep that smell dial under control for so long.
Then he does stuff like applying RainX to my windshield when he does his own and saying, with a shrug of those beautifully cut shoulders, that it was no big deal and by the way he'd also checked my tire pressure and the left rear was low.
So, here in December, after our lives had finally settled down a bit, it was only the big things that we hadn't quite gotten around to. Like holding, kissing—making love.
But we were getting there, damn it. I knew we were. Another medium sized thing? Jim and I celebrated Hanukkah. He had me go through the entire thing, telling the story, lighting the candles, the dreidel—the whole bit. He'd sat there quietly, giving me all of his attention in that way he has when he's fully invested in something. I remember how his beautiful, pale hands were clasped between his knees as he listened to me recite the old verses from where I knelt on the floor next to the couch. He was wearing a blue turtleneck that matched his eyes, eyes so serious with a little frown between them. I think, if I hadn't been sold on the idea that we were heading towards a future together by then, that quiet night would have convinced me.
So, my point is that we were primed for something to happen, something to break, and I had my money on Christmas. With the time off, lack of other familial responsibilities and the resurrection of the attraction between us, it just seemed as though the planets were finally aligning in our favor.
So I decided to go for it—not getting any younger here and obviously neither is Jim. No big seduction scene or anything—it would just embarrass him and I doubt I could keep a straight face if I tried anything like that. That would not be our style.
No, what I wanted was a nice dinner, some good wine—music, no TV—and then I was going to tell Jim how I felt, and how I was pretty sure that he felt the same way. It would all be comfortable and non-threatening—and then hopefully would evolve into the hottest sex of my life. I had rehearsed what I wanted to say and I'd planned for every reaction from Jim except outright revulsion. I was pretty sure that wasn't going to happen, if I read my sentinels correctly.
Which, despite all the negative press to the contrary—I really do.
So, back to me and my big mouth. I'd finally gotten up my courage and made this pseudo date with Jim, real casual, telling him I'd fix Christmas eve dinner if he'd supply the wine. I think he knew that something was in the works because he'd given me a heartbreaker of a smile and said he'd go to Best Cellars and get something good. You could feel the anticipation growing between us as the days passed and I felt as though we were going to take it to the next—and the best—level.
The first blow came when Jim was tapped to work Christmas eve. It was two weeks before the holiday when Curt Walker from the second shift called after dinner. I didn't really listen to the conversation but there was no mistaking the look of disappointment on Jim's face after he'd hung up the phone, so I muted the TV as he sat down beside me on the couch.
"What's up?"
"That was Walker. His eighty year old grandmother wants her whole family over on Christmas eve and he needs me to cover for him."
"You told him no, right?" Even as I said it, I knew the answer. I tried to sound confident, but inside there was a bitter feeling of disappointment starting to percolate in the pit of my stomach.
"Had to tell him yes, Chief. I owe him one."
"Yeah? For what?"
"He, uh, took a shift for me a while ago."
I frowned, unable to recall the situation. After all, I knew Jim's schedule as well as my own. "When was that?"
Jim frowned a little and reached across my lap for the remote. "Last spring. You were in the hospital."
"Last—?" Wait a minute—car chase, car crash, broken collar bone—"Oh."
"Right." He cleared his throat. "So, what channel is it on again?"
"Um, thirteen."
"Ok. Pass me the Gardetto's."
So, at that point, I was home alone on Christmas eve but I could wait up. I just had to adjust things a little. That shift ended at midnight and if Jim wasn't too tired, a midnight snack might work—especially when I planned on being the snack in question.
Next night, another phone call.
"Hello?"
"Blair? This is William Ellison."
"Hey, hi, Mr. Ellison! How are you?"
"Good, and you?"
"Good, too—hey, let me get Jim. Jim! It's your—oh. Jeez, sorry—habit. Hold on, here he is."
"Hey, Dad. Yeah, you too. Uh hunh. Dinner party? No, I can't, I'm sorry. Yeah, exactly. No, it sounds real nice and if I could, I would. Stephen's girlfriend? No, I haven't met her yet. Engagement announcement...you think so? Well, yeah, I do have the seniority but I owed this guy a shift—"
Uh oh. That sounded like an invitation that Jim really shouldn't refuse. The long, slow thaw in the Ellison clan wasn't so far along that it could stand a setback. I backhanded him lightly on his arm to catch his eye.
"Dad, I know—hold on, Sandburg's trying to get my attention." He held the phone against his shoulder. "What?"
"I'll work your shift."
See? Big, big mouth.
"Sandburg, you're invited, too. You don't have to—"
"Tell him you'll be there, ok? You should go—c'mon, it's family!"
Jim's mouth set in a thin line as he shook his head. "No, that's not the point here, Chief. It's not just family, it's like—thirty people. Relatives I haven't seen for years."
"All the more reason you should go," I argued. "Jim, look. Your dad wants you there. We can do our thing some other time. Hey, if it makes you feel better, now you'll owe me big time, and I promise to make you pay long and painfully." I nudged him with my elbow. "Tell him yes."
He stared at me hard as he slowly lifted the receiver to his ear. "Ok, Dad, it's set. Sandburg said he'll work the shift. Ok, ok. Yeah, I'll tell him. See you then."
He turned the phone off and set it in its cradle. "Dad says thanks and he's sorry you can't come," he said quietly.
I swallowed. "Tell him my pleasure."
So I lied like a big rug—it was for a good cause.
And that was how I ended up working the four to twelve shift on Christmas eve while my partner and still unofficial love of my life went to a swanky party that undoubtedly had well-dressed, beautiful and need I say rich women just trolling for someone like Jim to stuff their stocking.
5:30 p.m., Christmas Eve
The first hour and a half of the shift were incredibly boring, so I had plenty of time to throw myself one swell pity party. I was separating paperclips into piles according to size and eating my seventh stale Christmas cookie when the phone rang.
"Major Crime, Detective Sandburg speaking."
"Ok, blue or red."
I had to laugh. Just the sound of Jim's voice lifted my spirits considerably.
"Jim, man, I don't have psychic powers. Tell me which suit you're wearing."
"Dark blue suit, white shirt."
I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair. Figures. It just damn figures. He'd be fighting them off all night. I have such a big mouth, I swear.
"Change the shirt to the light blue one and wear the dark blue tie with the ivory satin stripe." God, he'd look so—damn it, what was I doing?
"The what tie? I don't have a—oh, wait, yes I do."
"There ya go." Stupid, junior detective, very stupid.
"Thanks. Anything going on there?" Was is just wishful thinking or was there a hopeful note in his voice?
I looked at my perfectly divided piles of paperclips. "Not much. We solved the D.B. Cooper case and somebody spotted Bigfoot at the Cascade Mall but other than that it's pretty slow."
There was a smile in his voice as he answered. "The Cooper case, hunh? He tell you where the money is?"
"Yeah. Says he invested heavily in the bull market but lost it all to IPOs and tech stocks in the nineties."
That got me an outright laugh. "Poor bastard." He sighed. "Well, I guess I better get going."
"Yeah. Um, have a good time, ok?"
He paused before answering. "See you tonight, Chief."
6:45 p.m.
An hour or so later I was perched on the edge of my desk, watching a street corner Santa who had been mugged give his statement to Chavez when my phone rang again.
"Major Crime, Detective Sandburg speaking."
"Any more Bigfoot sightings?"
I smiled and heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Nah. He and the missus are probably sipping eggnog and making Bigfoot nookie by the fire by now. How's the party?"
I wasn't really sure I wanted to know but it seemed appropriate to ask. I resolutely banished visions of leggy women with dresses cut down to there dangling mistletoe over Jim's head and instead tried to distract myself with something less upsetting—like, say, Simon in drag.
That lasted about three seconds too long.
"It's all right," Jim was saying. "We're about to sit down to dinner."
"What are you having? Let me live vicariously. And no cheating—do it by smell alone, ok?"
"Sandburg, there's gotta be at least twelve different—"
"Don't be a wuss. This is just a tiny payback for what you owe me for being here tonight. Besides, you need the practice."
"Ok, hang on. Prime rib, turkey, potatoes, um, spinach soufflé. Uh, there's sausage and hazelnut dressing that's a little heavy on the cumin, asparagus with béarnaise sauce—"
"Stop!" I groaned. "You're killin' me here!"
"Well, you asked. What are you doing about dinner?"
"Well, let's see. Carter's husband brought her dinner here. Chavez, Lincoln and I were gonna order a pizza from Romio's but they closed at six, so we've been digging around for change for the vending machine. Hope you weren't saving that thirty-five cents in your desk drawer for something special. Oh, and Simon left us some of his hazelnut fudge, too. Guess it's a good thing I looked in his bottom desk drawer underneath that stack of old requisition forms or we never would have found it."
He laughed and then let out a little sigh. "Look, Chief, I'm really sorry you got roped in to doing this."
"Jim, man, remember? No roping involved, I volunteered."
"Hey, I know—I'll have Sally put together a doggy bag for you, ok?"
"Yeah? Cool! That'd be great!"
"Wait—ok—yeah, I'm coming. Ok, gotta go. Chin up, you've only got four hours left."
"I was gonna say the same thing to you."
"Funny. Talk to you later."
Four hours. Yikes.
9:30 p.m.
Much to my surprise, the next time the phone rang it was dispatch with an honest to God call. Marc Chavez and I took it and headed out to the marina where a body had been spotted bobbing against the pylons. We stood by in the freezing rain as divers hauled it out onto the icy dock and the M.E. began her assessment. It was pretty basic stuff, helped out by the fact that Chavez recognized the dead guy right off. There was no immediate evidence of how he died, which was a break for us—the autopsy wouldn't be done until after Christmas.
We were watching the body being lifted into the back of the wagon when my cell rang. I gripped my styrofoam cup between my teeth and peeled off one glove to handle the phone.
"Sandburg."
"It's me. You ok?"
"Sure. Why?"
"I called your desk and Carter said you'd gone out on a call. Where are you?"
"East Bay Marina. Just pulled a d.b. out of the drink."
"Yeah? Anyone we know?"
My teeth began to chatter as I answered. "Nah, but Marc recognized him as some guy he'd b-busted before." I took a quick sip of the rapidly cooling coffee. "So, dinner was good, hunh? What are you guys doing now?"
"Everyone's gathering in the living room for coffee and brandy."
I stared down at my own coffee, the street lights above me reflected in its oily surface. With a quick flip of my wrist, I chucked it into a nearby garbage can.
"S-sounds nice."
"You done out there? You sound cold."
"Yeah, we're about through. Man, what t-time is it?"
"A little after ten. Go on, get inside somewhere and get warm, ok? Too damn cold for you to be outside for long."
Oh, man—if he only knew that what he'd just said warmed me better than any blanket.
"I will," I managed. "Gotta go. Later."
"Later, Chief."
11:45 p.m.
Fifteen minutes to go. Carter had already left, Chavez had his coat on and Lincoln was wrapping up the remains of the cookies and putting them away in the break room refrigerator.
And my phone rang. Please, please, please, I thought desperately, don't be business.
"Major Crime—"
"Hey, Chief."
"Jim! Party over? You home now?"
"Uh, no. I have a little problem here."
"What's wrong?"
"Truck battery's dead. I went outside to warm it up and—nothing."
"Oh, man, that bites. Can you grab a ride home with someone?"
"Party's over, Sandburg. Everyone's gone. Stephen and his girlfriend left a little while ago."
"What about your Dad?"
"He went up to bed. He was pretty beat and I don't wanna bother him."
"Where's Sally?"
"Family picked her up half and hour ago for midnight mass."
Oh, no. Don't tell me—"Are you gonna spend the night there?" I asked as casually as I could. Wouldn't that just be the kicker to this miserable night? To not even have Jim to share Christmas morning with?
"What? Hell, no! I told Dad you'd come out and get me."
I blew out a huge sigh of relief. "Oh, ok! Yeah, sure! Um—" I hunted around for a pen and piece of paper. "Gimme the directions."
Half an hour later, I was pulling up the curved driveway of stately Ellison manor, past the forlorn-looking Ford where it sat near the three-car-and-a-boat garage. The house itself was outlined in those icicle lights—all three floors. I couldn't begin to imagine what the electricity bill would be for a place like this.
I rolled up to the wide set of steps that led to the front door. Not really wanting to hit the horn, I was relieved when the door opened and Jim came out. He bounded down the steps and came over to my side of the car.
I was reluctant to let out the small amount of heat that the Volvo had managed to put out on the way over, so I rolled down the window only a little bit. "What's up?"
"Shut it off and come inside for a minute, ok? And watch the steps—they're icy." He turned and moved back up the steps before I had time to reply.
"Live to serve, man," I muttered. All I wanted to do was go home and regroup. I was tired and frustrated—a lousy combination on what should have been a pretty big night for me.
I dutifully turned off the engine and trudged up the steps. Jim was waiting just inside the door and closed it behind me as I stared slack-jawed at my surroundings. I found myself in a foyer that rose up two stories, edged in a curving staircase with the banister covered in garlands, ribbons and lights. In the center of the foyer stood a round table with a holiday-intense flower arrangement in the middle, surrounded by lit tapers. Those candles and the tiny lights in the garland were the only illumination in the room.
"Jeez, Jim," I breathed. "This is—this is like something out of a movie."
He came up behind me and draped an arm over my shoulder. "Yeah, it's a bit much, hunh? Come on into the living room."
We stepped through an arched doorway into a room that was as large as the loft. A Christmas tree at least twelve feet tall stood tucked into one corner and across from the doorway was a large fireplace. A low fire was burning and the tree was still lit, making the place look like a Martha Stewart Christmas fantasy on steroids.
I missed the warmth of his arm when he pulled away to kneel next to the tree. "C'mere," he whispered, motioning me to his side.
I went and crouched beside him, surprised when he shoved a present into my hands. "This one's from Stevie to you—" another one was added to that "—and this one's from my Dad."
"Jim," I hissed in outrage, "I didn't get them anything! Why didn't you tell me!"
He shrugged and set another small box on top of the growing pile. "Didn't know. Don't sweat it, we'll figure something out later. Ok, there's the last one with my name on it. Can you take another one?"
I nodded, still feeling a little numb from this unexpected Ellison largesse. One more package was tucked under my arm and I stood up carefully. "I'll go put these in the car," I whispered.
"Ok. I'm gonna run back and grab the food. Sally packed enough to feed half the precinct."
I made my way carefully back to the car and got the packages into the trunk without a problem. Then I stood there for a minute with my hands tucked under my armpits, bouncing on my toes and wondering if Jim was going to follow me. After a few minutes, I realized it was way too cold to wait outside so I slipped back into the house.
When my eyes adjusted, I saw Jim silhouetted on the living room threshold, looking over at the Christmas tree. I stepped around a large ice chest to stand beside him and wait, wondering what was on his mind. The firelight caught the tips of his thick lashes and tinted them gold, the consequent shadows painting hollows beneath his high cheekbones. Jim was just one of those people blessed with almost unbearable good looks, destined to improve with age.
With that realization came a wave of self-doubt, as I reminded myself that he could have anyone he wanted, male or female. Why the hell would he want someone like me? He dated beautiful people, exciting people, witty people—and sometimes criminal people—but you get the picture. I mean, the last thing I wanted was for Jim to look around and choose me out of habit or familiarity—or laziness.
No, I wanted him excited, enthralled, blown away by the eternal mystery of loving someone, just like I was. Oh, hell, I just wanted him to feel the same way about me that I felt about him.
I sighed a little and started to turn towards the large ice chest sitting by the door. Jim's big hand reached out and snagged the lapel of my coat, holding me still without breaking his gaze from the dying fire.
"You know," he said quietly, "tonight was good." He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, then jerked his chin towards the tree. "Too many people, but I got used to it. Just wish you could've been here."
"Yeah?" I replied with well-faked nonchalance. If he wanted to catalog my escalating heartrate, so be it. "Meet anyone interesting?"
"Sandburg," he replied, surprisingly serious, "I've never met anyone half as interesting as you. As nice as this was, it wasn't all that great because you weren't here."
His softly spoken words choked me up a little. I tore my gaze away from his profile and swallowed. "Yeah, well, thanks. I'm not sure how your family would feel about that, though. I don't exactly fit in with the martini and stock option crowd."
He shrugged and turned towards me. "They felt bad. I think that's why the gifts. I don't know—they just consider you part of the family now."
I blinked hard. "That's—that's cool, Jim. Really nice."
Jim stared down at me, then a little smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth. "So, Detective Sandburg, you detect anything unusual about where we're standing?"
"Hunh?" I looked around, at the dying fire, the tree, the painfully well-coordinated decorations. A knuckle tucked under my chin lifted my eyes upwards and I finally saw it, nestled among the greenery that outlined the arch. My heart began to race as I lowered my gaze to Jim's eyes.
"Is that what I think it is?" I whispered, knowing full well what it was. A warm, fluttery feeling started deep in my chest as Jim's hand curved around my cheek. "How many times did you get nailed tonight?"
He shrugged, smiling slightly. "Couple of times."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, once by Sally and once by some batty old great aunt with hair growing out of a mole on her chin."
"Oh, man, not a nice picture."
"It was pretty traumatic. Wanna help me get over the experience?" He raised one eyebrow as he tilted his head to one side.
Oh, God, there is nothing in the world like Jim when he's turning on the charm. "That why we're standing here?"
"Yep. Pretty smooth move, hunh?"
Tentatively, I brought my hand up to rest on his hip. I licked my upper lip as I stepped a little closer to him. "Ask me again in a minute," I murmured, my eyes falling to his mouth. He took the hint and inclined his head towards me, our eyes locked together until I could feel the flow of his breath on my lips. He dipped his head quickly, letting his mouth barely touch mine before retreating with a smile. My eyes slowly closed as our lips met, Jim's hand still warm and solid against my cheek.
Then his mouth was on mine, strong and firm, no hesitation, no fumbling. I slipped both hands beneath his coat jacket and around his waist, tugging him closer. He pressed against my lips and I opened to him, inviting the smooth invasion of his tongue. It wasn't forceful—it was a slow, sweet incursion that stole my breath away and curled my toes with its tenderness. My right knee wobbled and gave way and then I found myself leaning against him, my head falling against the curve of his shoulder as he swept me closer without relinquishing the hold he had on my mouth.
It was weirdly perfect, kissing Jim there in the middle of the night in his dad's house. All his strength, his power, his unequaled concentration was gathered up and focused solely on me and you'd better believe that I was just soaking it up. My hands were sliding up his firm back muscles, fingertips searching out the heat of his skin through the fabric, when he pulled away. I swallowed, trying to think of something to say, but words had quite simply been temporarily removed from my brain.
"Hunh," I finally got out.
"Hunh?" he whispered. "That's the best you can do?" He pressed his hot mouth against the spot beneath my ear, making me shiver when I felt the tip of his tongue lap against my skin.
"Sorry," I laughed shakily. "Seems my vocabulary is a little lacking." I looked up at him through my lashes. "Words are all dried up."
I was carefully walked up against the wall, Jim's hands cradling my head. "God, I hope not," he murmured, his voice deepening to an octave I'd never heard from him before. "Before this night is out, I want to hear a lot more from you."
He punctuated his next words with slow, precise kisses pressed over my cheek and eyes. "Like 'harder', and 'faster', and 'oh, God'. That's what I want to hear from you tonight. Tonight and every night from now on. You hear me, Blair Sandburg?" He ground his mouth once more onto mine, pushing his hips against me and giving me pretty compelling evidence of why he expected such mindless outbursts from me.
I leaned back enough to take another deep breath. We were deep into the shadows and I couldn't read his eyes.
"Not a problem," I said simply, pulling his mouth back down within reach of mine. The kisses grew more passionate and my need to feel his skin against mine more desperate when I finally moved my hands back up across his chest and flexed my fingers.
"Ok, time out," I gasped, resting my forehead against his chin. He pressed a kiss to the corner of my eye and gave me a squeeze, then stepped back.
"Yeah," he panted, drawing his hand across his jaw and giving me a sweetly conspiratorial smile. "Let's go home."
"Um," I stammered as an unwelcome thought came to me. Those words he said he'd wanted to hear—oh yeah, no problem at all—except those weren't the only ones I that I wanted—needed—to say.
Jim looked down at me with a frown. "What?" he said a little more severely than I expected.
I hesitated. Now that the moment was here, I could feel what was left of my confidence evaporating. Maybe it was our surroundings, or the fact that the kiss had come before the conversation, but I knew that unless I was clear, I'd never be sure—about either of us. "You told me what you wanted to hear from me, right? Well, I was sort of hoping you'd want to hear something besides all that."
I watched as the harshness faded away and his expression softened. He laid his hands on my shoulders and smiled down at me. "Jesus, you scared me there for a sec. Oh, yeah, there's definitely something else I'd like to hear you say. But—well, I didn't want to rush you."
"So," I smiled uncomfortably and looked away, "we're not just doing this on spec?"
There was a pause while he regarded me and I looked everywhere but at him. That was our M.O. sometimes, when something important was happening between us—Jim gets focused and I'm looking for the exit. I couldn't think of anything more important than this, so I forced my eyes back to his.
"Ok, hold on," he replied softly. "Looks like I'm the one who needs to do the talking here first. C'mon."
He grabbed my elbow and led me next to the fireplace where he fell to his knees, pulling me down beside him onto the obscenely plush rug. We sat close but not touching until Jim gathered one of my hands in his. I watched as he marshaled his thoughts, my breath stuck in my throat. After a moment he squeezed my hand and gave me an unexpectedly shy smile that had me aching inside.
"Blair, I don't know a lot of pretty words—no surprise there, right? I don't know how to make what I'm about to say sound like it's not coming from some bad T.V. movie or—"
"Jim, man, c'mon," I interrupted quickly, not wanting this drawn out any more, "just say it, ok? Whatever it is, I can handle it—just put me out of my misery."
"Yeah, Jimmy, why don't you just tell him you love him instead of jawin'
him to death!"
Two heads never swerved around so fast. There in the foyer stood Stephen Ellison, looking smug and amused as he leaned a shoulder against the doorframe in an obviously patented Ellison stance.
Then Jim and I were backing staring at each other. "Oh my God," I whispered, "please tell me I didn't just hear him paraphrase 'It's A Wonderful Life'."
Jim looked at me, just as wide-eyed, before turning back to Stephen who still stood in the doorway, smirking at us. I tried to untangle our hands but Jim just gripped me tighter as he sat staring at his brother.
"Stephen?" Jim stuttered. "Uh, you're back."
Brilliant deduction, Jim. Jeez.
Stephen straightened and walked into the room, shoving his hands into the pockets of his wool overcoat. "Yeah. Jenny thinks her wallet fell out of her purse somewhere in here tonight. We're flying to see her folks in the morning so you can imagine she's a little concerned about finding it."
He sat down in a leather club chair and crossed his legs at the ankles, obviously enjoying himself. Jim finally let go of my hand and scrambled to his feet and I followed to stand beside him, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot like a teenager caught necking by my date's family—which was way too close to the truth for comfort.
Stephen threw Jim an amused look but spoke to me. "Merry Christmas, Blair. Sorry you couldn't join us tonight."
"Me, too." I glanced at Jim. "Sounds like it was a great party."
"Well, my brother didn't think so. He either talked about you or was on the phone with you almost the entire time."
I blushed with pleasure but Jim turned red with embarrassment so I decided to throw him a rope. "Sorry about the phone calls but you know cops. We have an outstanding case that Jim had—"
I was stopped when Stephen flapped a hand at me and laughed. "Spare me. I can see with my own eyes why he kept calling you." He suddenly let out a small whoop and dove beneath an end table, coming up with the wallet. "Great, I got it. Now maybe we can get some sleep. You guys better head out, too—the roads are really getting bad."
"Yeah, we're out of here as soon as we get loaded up." Jim had regained his equilibrium, his arms crossed easily over his chest.
"Yeah, " I piped up, trying to match Jim's nonchalance, "we're just about ready."
Stephen grinned. "No kidding. Hey, merry Christmas, you two. Jim, I'll call you when I get back."
"Sounds good. Drive safe."
We both stood there and watched him leave. When I heard the front door close, I turned and whacked Jim a good one on his upper arm.
"So much for the early warning system, Ellison! Jeez, you couldn't hear him coming?"
Jim scowled and rubbed at the place where I'd hit him. "Hey, I had some other stuff on my mind, ok? Cut me some slack!"
"Cut you some slack my ass," I muttered, moving towards the door. "Guess he's right—we'd better head out."
Jim moved swiftly past me, blocking the way. Before I could say anything, he'd pulled the pocket doors shut and turned around to face me again.
"Not just yet."
I held up my hands and shook my head. "Look, the moment is gone, man. Plus, in case you hadn't caught on, your brother just took your outing completely in stride. What the hell is up with that?"
He shrugged and took a step towards me. "I told him I was bi when I was in the army. I figured it was one more thing to rub my dad's nose in and was all set to tell him, but Stephen talked me out of it. He said that I shouldn't use something like that as a weapon to hurt someone."
I nodded. "So Stephen actually got the brains and the good looks."
He rolled his eyes and gave me a tolerant smile before taking another step in my direction, the mood between us shifting once again. I stood my ground in the middle of the room, wanting so much and yet at the same time, needing so very little. My emotions had been bounced around for the past half hour and on top of the high expectations and rough disappointments that this stupid season had brought, I was strung a little tight.
Then, in what only can be considered as a good omen for the future of Blair Sandburg, Jim Ellison read me like the proverbial book and did exactly the right thing. At first he stood there, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted to one side and legs spread in an at ease stance. I looked back with my eyebrows raised, big pointy question marks dancing over my head.
"You know what?" he finally muttered. "Screw the pretty speech."
My heart thudded against every rib on its way down to my knees. Wrong, Sandburg! You were wrong again—
"—love you, you know."
Zing! My heart rebounded and lodged in my throat.
"Yeah?" I gulped.
He shook his head and grinned. Then, in a quick move that I really don't remember seeing, he grabbed my hand and yanked me to his chest, throwing his arms around me and lifting me to my toes in an uncommonly boisterous show of affection.
"Yes," came the fierce whisper, "yes, I love you, you little bastard. Seems like I've been waiting forever for the right time to say it. I'm not sure this is the right time, but damn it—I'm tired of waiting."
"God, me too," I breathed as I leaned back. "I wanted to tell you tonight—I had it all planned."
He brushed his thumb over my bottom lip. "Yeah, I figured that's what dinner was all about. God, I can't tell you how bad I felt about missing it."
"It's ok," I soothed, "don't worry about it. Nothing that can't keep."
"Really? Well, why don't you tell me what you've got planned here, Chief. Forewarned is forearmed." He winked at me—swear to God, Jim winked at me and my heart damn near stopped.
"Oh, you know," I whispered with a grin that threatened to wobble a little around the edges, "a little food, a little wine...a little of the irresistible Sandburg charm."
He chuckled. "That all sounds good to me. I say we grab the food and head for home." Then touched his nose to mine.
That little move hit me unexpectedly and almost as deeply as our first kiss. It was like I was watching something wild and sweet that had been restrained in Jim for far too long being finally set free. I could see it in the way his eyes crinkled around the edges as he smiled down at me, feel it in the easy stroke of his fingers on my face. For me—God, it was like finally relaxing a muscle held taut for years, and the unbelievable relief of being able to touch him in love was intoxicating stuff.
Before he could move away, I slid my hand up the back of his tie and grabbed the knot, giving it a gentle tug until he bent towards me slightly. "And when we get home? I say we start a new Sandburg-Ellison tradition and enjoy our gifts as soon as we get home. It is, technically, Christmas morning." I pulled him closer and brushed a kiss across his open mouth, the freedom to be able to do something like that an extraordinary pleasure all its own.
When I tilted my head away, Jim followed and pressed a more demanding kiss to my lips. "Not so fast," he growled. "There's something I'd much rather unwrap tonight than Christmas presents."
"Uh, Jim?" I smiled, "who said anything about presents?"
He narrowed his eyes at me—and then he got it.
"Well, hell. Merry Christmas to me, then," he murmured, then nailed me with another swift kiss before moving away and gathering up his overcoat from a nearby couch. He pulled it on and then grabbed the other side of the ice chest containing our booty from Sally's kitchen. We got it stowed away in the back seat and I started up the now freezing car while he ran back to set the alarm and lock up the house.
The ride back home started out borderline uncomfortable. Had the road been anything other than an ice rink, I think either Jim or I would've tried to connect physically somehow. But I needed to concentrate on my driving and Jim knew that, so the enforced twenty minutes or so of separation were a going to be a little rough.
I couldn't let that happen. As thrilled as I was with the fulfilling of my dearest dream, I totally understood that what we were about to have together would only succeed with lots of hard work. I searched around for something to talk about, immediately rejecting anything about police work. Bland conversation seemed a little incongruous, but the last thing I wanted between us was awkward silence.
Before I could come up with something, Jim saved the day again.
"So, I guess Stephen's finally decided to tie the knot."
"Yeah? You like her?"
"Yeah, I do..."
That was all we needed. The rest of the trip home was easy and helped immensely by Jim casually setting his hand on my shoulder when we reached the warmer city streets. By the time I pulled up to the loft all awkwardness was gone and it was just like it should be—like it used to be, only now with the expectation of something wonderful about to begin.
Between the two of us—aided by some careful stuffing of presents inside our coats—we got everything up in one load. Once again, the day to day stuff required our attention before anything else. After the packages were dumped on the couch, I offloaded my gear while Jim emptied the contents of the ice chest. Then I gathered up the presents and knelt down next to our little tree to arrange them among the others already there, taking a second to turn on the multi-colored lights as well.
I'd been fussing with them for a few minutes—because they have to be just so, you know?—when I became aware of Jim kneeling right behind me. I stopped messing around and sat back on my heels, still facing away from Jim and wondering a little nervously why he wouldn't touch me. The answer came on a quiet sigh.
"You know, it's the damndest thing," he said, his voice low. "I can touch you now—but for some reason, it's hard to just—do it. Crazy, hunh?"
"No, man, not crazy at all," I replied, my eyes fixed on a little snowshoe ornament hanging from a low branch. "I feel the same way. Behavioral patterns are tough to break. After so many years of wanting and not having, it's difficult—" I swallowed and took a deep breath "—difficult to believe this is happening."
Jim didn't reply, but a few seconds later I felt his hand on the top of my head, slowly stroking down to the band around my now less than substantial ponytail.
I inhaled a little shakily. "Whoa. That, however, is a really good way to start."
Gentle hands unfastened the tie, then fell to my shoulders.
"Scoot back."
Guided by his touch, I shifted back until I was lodged between his thighs as he made himself comfortable against the couch. His arms came around my midriff and I slid my hands over his, entwining our fingers. His chin rested lightly on my right shoulder and for a few minutes we sat silently, our eyes on the tree but at least for me, my mind focused entirely on the man who now held me firmly against him.
"You know," I said eventually, quietly, "I thought this was going to be the worst Christmas I'd ever had."
"Yeah?"
I shifted around a bit, fitting myself more comfortably inside the circle of his arms. "Oh, yeah. I've had some great holidays and then some not so great ones but I was afraid this one was gonna top them all in the major disappointment category."
"Ok, I'll bite. Why was this one gonna be so bad?"
I paused, taking one of Jim's hands and turning it over to slowly rub my thumb in a circle in the middle of his palm. I immediately heard an appreciative hum in my ear and I smiled inside. Did I think Jim was going to be a responsive lover?
You better believe it.
"I guess I just thought—" I began, then stopped and started again. "Ok. Look. All I've been able to think about for God knows how long is how much I didn't want to screw up anymore. No, wait—"
His arms had tightened and I could feel the rise of his chest behind me as he took a breath to interrupt.
"—just listen. What I'm saying here is that you and I, I mean we—we don't always have the greatest timing. But through all that, we've always known we could get to this point. True?"
Jim pressed his mouth against my ear, the warm draught of his breath setting off a tingle of pleasurable tension between my shoulder blades.
"True."
"But that lousy timing thing keeps whapping us upside the head—until lately. The past couple of months have been good between us, really good. So good that I felt confident enough to plan something special, just so we could, you know, kinda see where the night took us."
The hand I wasn't massaging was suddenly moving, slipping loose the button of my shirt just above my belt buckle.
"Yeah? And?" he inquired softly as his fingers began to stroke my abdomen through my cotton t-shirt.
"Uh, well," I murmured, my concentration almost fatally derailed. But there was a point to be made here, and never let it be said that Blair Sandburg passed up an opportunity to make an astute observation—even as my brain was being turned to happy mush.
"Mmm, ok, my point is that I had all these great plans and then they fell apart. I figured, with our luck, there wasn't going to be a way to fix it and we'd have one more missed opportunity to add to our growing collection."
His fingers stilled and I took the hand I'd been holding and held it against my the side of my face, my eyes falling shut as his fingers curved against the warmth of my cheek.
"And man—I don't know about you, but I've about had it with all the damn obstacles we've had to overcome just to get here. I'm not saying we never would, but—"
"Blair." My eyes flew open as another button was undone and his hand slipped in to cradle my ribcage.
"Yeah?" Oh, God, that felt nice. Nice? Try amazing.
"Tell me about this Christmas." His mouth was still close to my ear. "Tell me about now."
"Oh, well, now," I said faintly as my eyes drifted shut again, "now it's perfect. Go figure."
There was a soft breath of a laugh that stirred the hair at my temple. The hand that I'd been holding to my cheek broke loose and began to conspire with the other one to undo the next button.
"All right, that's it," I muttered, shaking myself out of the sensual reverie that kept pulling me in with every unfastened button. Heartfelt confession time was over—it was time to get this show on the road.
I pushed away his questing fingers and rose to my knees, quickly turning around and pinning his shoulders to the couch. At some point he'd removed his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his blue shirt, but the suit coat was still in place. As I leaned over him, his hands fell to my hips and gripped there, hard.
"Now look," I whispered with a mock frown, "just who's supposed to be seducing who here?"
"You're seducing me," he said, then added hoarsely, "and believe me, you're doing a damn fine job."
Diverted again, I replied with surprise, "I am?"
"Oh, yeah," he murmured, his fingers wrapping around the base of my neck to guide my mouth over his. "Hell of a job."
"Well," I said against his lips, "I've always been a bit of an overachiever."
Kissing Jim from above was incredible. The difference in angles gave me the illusion of control and I milked that for all it was worth as I bore down in an attempt to experience every part of his mouth. We were both a little bristly and I had a vague thought to how that must feel against the sensitive skin of his cheek, but since he wasn't complaining I decided he was on his own.
But like I said, it was only an illusion, as I figured out when I felt those nimble fingers at the front of my shirt again. It would seem that Jim Ellison had gotten me right where he wanted me. The last button gave up without a fight and so did I when Jim slid his hands beneath my open shirt and pulled me tight against his chest.
After another heated series of kisses that had me seriously thinking about a way to move this off the floor and on to a softer surface, Jim leaned back and smiled at me. I shook my head and let it fall forward onto his shoulder—his scent was embedded in the fabric of his jacket, comfortingly familiar but now also unbearably arousing. Getting greedy, I turned my head until my mouth met the skin above his shirt, where I proceeded to give it a quick taste. The sound of Jim's sharply indrawn breath was encouraging and I was preparing to find another spot and do it again when his fingers clasped my upper arms and gently pushed me back.
"I think it's time to try that Sandburg-Ellison tradition you mentioned earlier," he said with a little grin and a quick flex of his eyebrows.
I heard him, but it didn't really register. There was something I'd always longed to do but until tonight I'd just never had the right.
It was a simple thing, really. As I searched Jim's eyes, I held his face between my hands and slowly stroked my thumbs over his high cheekbones. His gaze held mine briefly, then fluttered shut as I continued the small caress. From right beneath his eyes, across that elegant bone structure and then up to his temples, over and over again as I tried to get my fill of the intimate contact. His mouth fell open slightly and I was struck with the whimsical idea that as long as I've always wanted to touch Jim this way, maybe all this time he'd been aching for this exact touch from me.
I ended the moment with a light kiss to the side of his mouth.
"Love you, Jim," I murmured, kissing him again lightly.
His arms came up to pull me close.
"You really are a smart guy, you know that?" he whispered, his voice catching a little. "It's just like you said—the perfect Christmas."
"Not yet," I countered with a kiss to the side of his head. "Not yet. We have a tradition to begin, remember?"
I rocked back onto my heels and up on my feet, then reached down to help Jim. He grasped my hand and I hauled him up, but when I went to pull away, Jim held on. Then he grabbed my other hand and entwined our fingers.
"So, between the dinner you've planned, all that wine I bought and the food Sally sent home with us, I'm thinking we don't have to leave this place for at least a week." He gave my hands a little squeeze.
"Yeah? Think Simon'll be down with that?"
Jim grinned at a spot over my head. "Not in a million years." He looked back at me, his expression turning from affectionate bemusement to a playful leer as he released one hand and gave the other a tug.
"C'mon. I want to open my gift."
"Who says you get to go first?" I tugged back.
"I do. I'm older."
I started to point out how lame that reasoning was, but as I was being more or less hauled up the stairs I quickly decided that this was one argument I'd let Jim win.
You know, there are no words, two syllable or otherwise, that describe how this once lousy, crummy, sucky Christmas actually turned out. There's no word in any of the languages I know, not a cliche, phrase or figure of speech that comes close. And having nothing to say—is saying a lot for me.
In fact, it says it all.
All Heal: Celtic name for mistletoe
Many thanks to the Ls for their generous advice, encouragement and late-night whip crackin'. The next part is all your fault. *g*
And Aithine—as always, a lovely place to be.
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