Seasons Greetings

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder

1 ROSES are red. Violets are blue. If I ever got my hands on your fine ass, oh baby, the things I would do. Russ Manners glared at his computer screen. His brown eyes darkened with frustration before he pressed the backspace key and watched the letters and their crisp Verdana font disappear one after another. Well, that little rhyme blew, he thought in disgust. Big time. He rubbed his temples and stared at the glossy pages cut out of an assortment of magazines and taped to the wall of his office cube. They didn’t help his futile search for inspiration. In fact, the more he focused on the colorful images of decorated eggs, baskets, and bright, cartoon rabbits the more he wanted to gouge his eyes out. The pictures’ perky themes clashed with the Christmas music piped through the office’s overhead speakers, adding to his piercing headache. Russ never understood this time of year. He lived in southern Florida, for crap’s sake. Was he the only one who got the memo explaining that no snow equaled no Christmas? Russ didn’t deliberately live out of sync with the rest of the world, but his demanding job writing greeting cards ensured he lived his life two or three holidays ahead. Normally he thrived on the resulting chaos. So what was his problem? The stuffed, yellow rabbit perched above his monitor regarded him with blank, black eyes. “A lot of help you are.” Russ muttered. 2

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder Soft brown hair hid his face as Russ lowered his head to his keyboard and let the plastic cool his overheated forehead. He was so screwed. Instead of happy, lilting Easter greetings guaranteed to bring smiles to the faces of their special recipients, Russ had been reduced to writing cheesy Valentine tags no self-respecting card company would publish. Here he sat, a few weeks away from his drop-dead date for the upcoming Easter line, and his mind absolutely positively refused to cooperate. Russ didn’t understand why. He’d never had any problems creating his trademark, catchy sayings before five weeks ago. And there was his answer. He blamed everything on newcomer Ian Fiorillo. As if on cue, Russ heard a low grunt from the cubicle next to him. Despite his intention not to give in to temptation, he clambered on top of the two-drawer file beside his desk, ignoring the files he knocked to the floor and the hard metal beneath his kneecaps so he could peek over the top of the cubicle wall. Truly, this was his hell. Because Ian wasn’t sitting at his computer, composing amusing ditties for Left-Brain Cards, the company they worked for. No, Ian was currently on his hands and knees with his head stuck under his desk, leaving Russ staring at the very same ass to which he had just composed yet another in a long line of excruciatingly bad odes. Russ couldn’t help himself. Ian had a great ass. Despite his efforts not to dwell on the subject, Russ would give almost anything to see Ian’s ass without its current khaki covering. Well, that and the rest of him. Because from where he knelt those hamstrings looked pretty sweet. Hell, even Ian’s ankles were 3

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder attractive. But it wasn’t only Ian’s body Russ found irresistible. No, Ian proved to be as funny and friendly as he was eye-catching. Ian Fiorillo was hands-down the main reason Russ hadn’t produced any work for weeks, and that was wrong on too many levels to count. Russ claimed the title of head writer at Left-Brain Cards when the small company started. At the advanced age of thirty-two, he was the old man, the grand poobah, the undisputed star of the office. He hadn’t wanted competition from someone younger and new to the business, and he never expected to like the newcomer. Russ had cheerfully planned to hate Ian ever since he learned a new employee had been hired to bring fresh life to their card and coffee mug line—his view being there was nothing wrong with the ideas they had. But somehow that changed on Ian’s first day. The very same day everything in Russ’s world turned upside down. The day he couldn’t manage to forget… Mondays at Left-Brain Cards tended to be crazy, but Ian’s first day had seemed chock-full of more than the average amount of weirdness. There were advantages to working for the boutique card publisher instead of freelancing, but damned if Russ could have named any of them that morning. Bad enough the coffee machine had malfunctioned. Even worse, the malfunction involved a crack in the pressurized water line and a weekend’s worth of time gone by without anyone noticing. Russ had come in early, hoping to get a jump on his latest project and forget about last night’s hook-up from hell; instead he had been the first to find the mess. When Russ had walked in the front door of the office building where Left-Brain rented their suite, it had seemed like any other Monday. His hangover hovered on this side of tolerable, and with the 4

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder promise of caffeine dangling before him, he punched in the code to silence the alarm’s obnoxious beep. Instead of blessed quiet when Russ hit the last key however, he heard something… different. Following his ears, Russ searched out the source of strange noise. The squelch of the wet carpet beneath his boots alerted him to the problem. With the overhead fluorescents turned off for the weekend, Russ squinted through the faint glow of emergency lighting to see a waterfall flowing above the receptionist’s desk. Russ stopped in his tracks, stunned by the surreal image pouring out of the recessed light fixtures set into the ceiling. The water splashed and pooled across the switchboard, clear rivers streaming over the dark wood to saturate the rug underneath. Honestly, it looked pretty cool. However, by the time Russ had contacted the building’s tenant emergency number, made his way to the second floor and found that the leak started from the coffee machine in Left-Brain Card’s suite (which mean no caffeine for him, damn it), the coolness had worn off. When it became obvious a flooded office building didn’t qualify for an emergency response from maintenance any quicker than anything else ever did, Russ gave up and fumbled to find the main shut-off valve for the water supply himself so the mess wouldn’t get any worse. By the time the rest of the office had shown up for work, grease covered Russ’s shirt and he was wet, cold, and still un-caffeinated. Not a good combination. He sprawled across the couch in Left-Brain’s small foyer, arms crossed over his chest and eyes closed to the soggy mess in front of him. He knew where the cleaning crew kept a mop and bucket, but he had already gone above and beyond his job description. “I’m still drunk, aren’t I?” Russ groaned when the sagging cushions of the couch bounced and 5

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder his headache worsened. He frowned at the dark-haired man responsible. That was Mike. Russ’s closest friend at work and a royal pain in the rear. Mike’s specialty included the new line of divorce, breakup and any type of card needing more than the usual amount of sarcasm. He would be the first to admit he worked in a niche market. Left unspoken were the reasons he was so good at his job. “Either I’m still drunk or you had way too much fun this weekend and didn’t invite me. I’m deeply hurt.” Mike ran his hand over his thinning hair and sniffed. “Gross, you smell like a wet dog.” Russ ignored Mike in favor of the large, carryout cup of overpriced coffee he carried. “Nothing about this morning has been fun, trust me.” Taking advantage of Mike’s distraction, Russ grabbed the container out his hands and took a deep gulp, disregarding all risk of cooties in his desperation. He sat back out of reach while Mike waved his arms in protest. “Wow, look at you two.” Lacey, the older woman who worked on what they called the “grandma line,” walked in next. She unwrapped the cable knit scarf at her neck (unlike Russ she was born and bred in Florida and believed that anything below seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit qualified as scarf-wearing weather) and stared at the two men and the water-soaked carpet through her unfashionable plasticrimmed glasses. “Eww, Russ, how much did Mike pay you and did you enjoy yourself?” “I’m sensing a distinct lack of sympathy here.” Russ struggled to his feet and refused to give the coffee back to Mike. “This is the thanks I get for coming in early and saving this office from floating away?” “You may qualify for the title of savior of the office, but for your fine work, not for any other reason.”

6

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder All three of them snapped to attention at the sound of the fourth voice. Sandy McAllister, the owner of Left-Brain Cards, strode through the front door with her usual smooth grace, but she wasn’t alone. Trailing behind, hands jammed deep into his pants pockets and wearing a polite and uncertain smile could only be their new co-worker. Russ blinked. This was the newbie he wanted to hate? First he told himself his lack of focus was perfectly natural after the events of the morning. Then Russ gave up and just enjoyed the view. Tall, blond, and long-legged, the new guy should have looked gawky and uncoordinated, but the muscle covering his rangy frame smoothed that all away. Despite his chilled state, Russ’s body temperature increased until he expected steam to rise from his clothing. “Oh my God, what happened here?” Sandy gasped when she saw the water-stained walls and carpet. “Someone please tell me the computers are okay!” Mike and Lacey turned to Russ, but instead of speaking up. he stared at the newcomer. The man gazed intently back at Russ, his hazel eyes lingering over the transparent fabric of Russ’s ruined shirt and the hard bud of nipple visible through the thin, wet material. The new guy grinned. A wide parting of his lips that made deep dimples appear in the lean flesh of his cheeks. Before Russ could censor his response a welcoming smile broke over his own face. Doomed, he held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Russ. Welcome to Left-Brain Cards.”

7

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder

2 “ HEY, Russ.” The privacy panels of the desk muffled Ian’s low rumble, but the sound of it was enough to bring Russ back to the present. “Hey, Ian.” Russ managed to choke out through his dry mouth as Ian raised his head and winked at him from his position on the floor. “Whatcha doing?” Russ shivered every single Ian spoke to him. He couldn’t help it. Ian had one of those voices that it didn’t make any difference what he said, everything sounded hot and dirty to Russ’s ears in that really good, bend-over-and-call-me-daddy kind of way Russ preferred. “Dropped my damn pen and now I can’t find it.” Russ watched, hypnotized by the flex of toned muscle beneath him. “You need any help?” He took pride in his ability to make conversation given his brain’s sudden deprivation of blood flow and his irrational desire to hump the partition in front of him. “Nah. Damn thing’s down here somewhere.” Ian rose to his knees with a mouth-watering (for Russ) stretch and a groan before he smiled up at Russ with those killer dimples. “It’s part of a set my sister gave me as a graduation present, and I’ll be in big trouble if I lose it.” No wonder everyone including Russ liked him. Ian actually got along with his family as well as being kind to children and small animals. He might be single, but everything about him screamed relationship material. That sucked, because Russ didn’t do relationships. Not of the tender and loving type. One of the reasons he excelled in his career, he supposed. Russ pushed all his romantic yearnings into the cards he created. 8

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder He and Ian could be friends. Co-workers. But no way would Russ risk screwing up their budding association with his usual inept brand of hit-and-run. So not going there, he firmly reminded himself again and again. Especially once he spent time around Ian and discovered they batted for the same team. Russ tried to fixate on Ian’s lesser qualities. Like how he mocked Russ’s lack of enthusiasm for mornings and then turned it into a bestselling coffee mug, his tendency toward hypochondria, and the bad moods he fell into without warning, requiring Russ spend hours talking him out of them. Worse was listening to Ian’s constant bitching about something stupid, like the office temperature or a bad call during a ball game, never shutting up until Russ acknowledged his gripe. Nothing seemed to work. “Everything okay?” Ian looked up at him with noticeable concern, his hazel eyes more green than brown today. Russ decided it must be the reflection from the polo he wore. “We still on for our run after work?” Ian tugged at his earlobe. A nervous habit Russ tried not to find adorable. “Yeah, sure.” Russ said. “Sorry, I’m a little distracted. Big project, you know.” Russ shrugged apologetically. Mike saved both Russ and his knees from further discomfort as he walked past Russ’s cube. “Break time, Kimosabe.” Mike grinned, his rabbity front teeth protruding and reminding Russ of his approaching deadline. Russ flinched when Mike slapped his ass as he passed. “Come entertain me.” “See you later, Russ.” Ian knelt back under his desk, and Russ gave one last, lingering look before he climbed down from his precarious perch and trailed after Mike. 9

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder Break room was a fancy name for the converted closet, barely enough space for the small sink set on top of a bar-size refrigerator. But at least Sandy tried, and honestly, Russ would rather have the stability of full-time employment and a closet for a break room instead of the uncertainty working freelance, which was the norm in the competitive world of greeting cards. “You hit that yet?” Mike handed Russ a glass mug out of the cupboard clearly marked “Clients only,” and Russ studied the rim with suspicion. In an effort to revamp her image, Lacey had taken to wearing a new, long-wearing lipstick which lived up to its name and so far resisted all efforts to scrub the gooey remnants away. “Ian?” Russ held out his mug demandingly. Mike tossed his tie over his right shoulder and poured the coffee. “No way.” “Come on. I’ve seen you drooling.” Mike shook some powdered creamer into his own mug, frowned, and added more when the murky fluid refused to lighten. “He’s worked here for weeks. Usually you’ve already been there and done that.” Russ grimaced. His initial sip of the overly blackened liquid definitely proved the pot had sat on the burner too long. “I told you. I’m not interested in Ian like that.” “Sure you’re not.” Mike snorted and wiped the light brown spray off his face. “That’s why whenever I talk to you all I hear is Ian this, and Ian that, and why you guys spend so much time together after work. I just want a few little details.” “Screw you.” Russ muttered, unable to deny the truth in Mike’s wheedling. It sounded trite, but he and Ian had somehow clicked on Ian’s first day. They had started with lunches out, graduated to dinners, and soon they were hanging out together on the weekends. But it didn’t mean anything, Russ told himself. “You just want some 10

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder quid pro quo so you can tell me about your latest whacked-out girlfriend.” Mike gave Russ a considering look before he put his palm on Russ’s forehead as if to test his temperature. “You like him. You really like him. Have you even been out with anyone else since he started working here?” “Do not.” Russ knew he was being childish, but he refused to answer Mike’s second question. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead harder against Mike’s sweaty palm. He still had a headache; either he was coming down with something or Ian’s hypochondria was catching. “Do too,” Mike replied automatically before he groaned. “This is bad. This is very bad.” “Why is this bad?” Russ asked as he gave up and poured his coffee down the drain. Concerned at the strange twinge in his gut, he rubbed his stomach through his shirt only to wince when he pressed the hard buttons into his flesh. “Why?” Mike waved his hand as if the motion explained everything. “You’ve lost your mojo, man. I can’t have this. Hell, most of my card ideas are based on your one-night stands.” “You make me sound like a slut.” Russ wondered if Ian thought he was a slut. That might explain some of the strange glances Ian sent his way all afternoon. His stomach ache increased. Funny how the idea bothered him more than his so-called friend mining Russ’s sex life to further his career. “You haven’t said anything to Ian, have you?” “No, no. Forget about him.” Mike put his mug down on the counter and rubbed Russ’s shoulders like a trainer sitting behind a prized fighter at a match. “We can fix this. Trust me.” 11

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder * * *

HIS feet pounded the solid pavement below, and Russ let his stride lengthen as his muscles warmed and stretched out. The December rain had finally stopped; the air was crisp and cool instead of humid for a change. A light breeze dried the sweat brought on by their run through the small park. Russ felt good; he was loose and relaxed as the exercise dissolved the last of his stress from the day. He assured himself it didn’t have anything to do with the man keeping pace beside him, each footfall a match to his own. “This is great.” Russ couldn’t help but share his enthusiasm. “I needed to take a break from the stupid Easter campaign. Damn thing is killing me.” “Tell me about it.” Ian groaned. “I’m reduced to listening to Mike talk about his girlfriend in search of new ideas. I’m practically coffeemugged out.” “You poor thing.” Russ laughed. “That’s desperate.” “Your form is better.” Ian changed the subject. His voice sounded smooth and steady despite their efforts. “Keep it up and you’ll be leaving me in the dust.” Russ looked over and smiled. Ian’s face flushed red with exertion. Moisture dotted his cheek and darkened the neck of his Tshirt, and Russ wanted nothing more than to lean close and start licking. They had begun running together a few weeks ago, and once Russ had overcome his initial desire to lay down and die he had to admit he enjoyed the developing routine. “I think my stamina has improved,” Russ panted slightly. Okay, 12

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder maybe not as much as he thought. “Trust me; it will make a big difference in other areas of your life.” Ian winked suggestively at Russ, his hazel eyes crinkling with amusement. Russ bristled at the implication. He was only three or four years older than Ian. “I’ll have you know the other areas of my life are fine.” He lifted the bottom of his shirt to wipe at forehead. “I’ve not had any complaints.” “Yeah, I bet.” Ian exhaled heavily, and Russ tried not to notice how his chest expanded with the deep inhalation that followed. “So, uh, you’ve never said if you’re seeing anybody?” Russ didn’t know how to respond to the question. He could answer with the truth—which would make him look like a jerk—or he could say what he thought Ian might want to hear—which would make him feel like a jerk. Damn it, Mike was right. He really liked Ian. An uncomfortable silence grew between them, broken only by the sound of their shoes hitting the ground in synchronized motion. “Sorry.” Ian gave in first. “I didn’t mean to pry. We’ve spent a lot of time together; I figured I ought to find out if there’s some significant other out there gunning for me.” “No.” Russ told himself it was their pace that left his throat closed and tight. “It’s okay. I just, well, I’m not seeing anybody right now.” “Cool.” Russ heard the happy smile in Ian’s voice, and he stared at the tree ahead in the distance, the weeds lining their path, his shoelaces. Anything but those dimples, his undoing every time. He knew he could have stopped there, but he was determined to man up and not lie to 13

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder Ian. He didn’t know why it was so important, it just was. “Actually, I don’t exactly do relationships. Period.” “Oh.” Russ snuck a quick glance over after he heard the flat tone of Ian’s voice. Ian had stopped smiling and the dimples to die for had disappeared. Russ told himself that no matter what he imagined, a magic “J” for “jerk” hadn’t appeared on his forehead. “Never learned the relationship thing. Never really saw it in action, if you know what I mean.” Russ uncomfortably tried to explain. Damn difficult as he hadn’t bothered to examine his reasoning in years. “Just because you didn’t grow up in the Huxtables’ family doesn’t mean you can’t learn new tricks.” Russ guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised Ian understood what he tried to say. Ian was scary like that. “Actually, we didn’t even resemble the Bundys.” Russ’s lungs burned with the effort to suck in more air, and despite his desire to run so fast he’d be unable to think about any of this, the constriction forced him to slow down. Ian slowed his pace as well, and they jogged silently for several minutes until Ian spoke up again. “Do you think the creators of that sitcom deliberately named the family after a serial killer?” Russ couldn’t help but laugh at the serious tone of Ian’s question, and just like that, everything between them was okay again.

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Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder

3 “I HEAR those sleigh bells jingling—ring, ting, tingling too.” Russ grit his teeth as the jazzed up version of the old classic played over the bar’s loudspeakers. He couldn’t escape. Halloween decorations had just been taken down, Thanksgiving still more than a few weeks ahead, and they were already playing Christmas carols. It was bad enough he had to live two or three seasons in advance at his career, he couldn’t believe the rest of the world did it willingly. A quick glance showed him a path through the tables. Russ preferred a different type of bar for his downtime. Some place quieter and more casual, kind of like the sports bar he and Ian had gone to last Thursday to watch the basketball game after work. Here, he couldn’t even have a decent conversation between the distraction of the lights and the booming bass line assaulting the brave souls on the dance floor. But he wasn’t here to relax or make polite small-talk, Russ reminded himself. Despite his doubts at trusting Mike to be his wingman, Russ needed to follow Mike’s game plan and overcome his fixation on Ian. Russ wanted to get his life back to normal. Step one entailed finding a distraction for the evening, someone warm and willing who knew the score and wouldn’t waste time with expectations Russ had no intention of meeting. Russ yawned. He could do this in his sleep. The open stool had his name written all over it. Russ slid onto the cool, vinyl seat and nodded at the bartender. His beer in hand, he swiveled around to check out the scene. Too early for much of a crowd, easier that way. He could be in and out without a lot of fuss. 15

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder Not that his presence went unnoticed. From the moment he had walked in the door, Russ knew he was being watched. Not that he was vain, but he wasn’t stupid either. Russ’s dark good looks and the confident, controlled manner he cultivated to hide his doubts guaranteed tonight’s search for company wouldn’t be unsuccessful. Sure enough, the stool beside his filled within minutes. He cast an approving glance over the neatly dressed blond with carefully disheveled hair and an obvious come-on visible in the pale blue eyes. Russ tried to ignore any perceived similarities to Ian. Everyone had a type, right? “You looking for a little holiday spirit?” The casual impact of the opening line was ruined by the way the words had to be shouted into his ear, but Russ gave the blond points for effort and held out his hand with a practiced and insincere smile. “Russ.” “Steve.” “How about I buy you a drink?” Russ let his palm drop from the introductory shake onto the thigh pressed close to his. He gave the quad a slight squeeze when it tensed under his grasp. Steve’s leg wasn’t as muscular as Ian’s, Russ thought, and then felt immediately ashamed of himself for the comparison. “Absolutely.” Steve smiled; obviously pleased by the success of his maneuvering and leaned in closer, eagerness apparent in every line of his lithe body. “So what do you do?” Immediately discouraged at having to play the same, tired old game even though he knew this was all part of the dance, Russ decided to cut to the chase before he changed his mind. “Do you really 16

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder want to waste time on small talk?” Blue eyes blinked and then partially closed, warming with sure knowledge. “I guess I can get a drink at your place as well as here, can’t I?” They walked out together, Steve deliberately brushing his body against Russ and Russ just as deliberately trying to step away. Russ couldn’t hear what Steve murmured into his ear, but he nodded anyway. Now that they weren’t sitting the height difference between Steve and Ian became apparent. On the other hand, Steve’s blue eyes seemed darker, deeper, and closer to the color Russ imagined in the dim light. It made things easier. If Russ concentrated he could almost pretend— Russ stopped, disgusted by his original intentions. This impersonal hook-up wasn’t what Russ wanted, not really. He had let Mike convince him it would help, but in the end a meaningless encounter wouldn’t be fair to either Russ or Steve. For once, something wouldn’t be better than nothing. “What?” Steve asked, startled by the abrupt lack of motion. “Did you forget something?” “Look,” Russ said awkwardly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. You don’t deserve to be taken advantage of.” “You’re kidding me, right?” Steve laughed. “I’m a big boy. Let’s go have a good time.” He stepped closer into Russ’s personal space and placed his hand on Russ’s chest. “Just relax.” “No, really.” Russ backed away from the contact. If nothing else this experience showed him how foolish he was for thinking some stranger could satisfy his desire for Ian’s touch. “I’m sure you’re a great guy and all, but I can’t.” 17

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder * * *

THE next morning Russ tried to hide at his desk. He didn’t want to see Mike, and even though he had walked away last night, he didn’t think he could face Ian without feeling ashamed. He had tossed and turned, unable to sleep, and by morning still hadn’t come to any coherent conclusions. He looked up, hoping for some divine intervention, and instead was confronted by the unblinking reminder his Easter project was due. He couldn’t work with those damn eyes staring at him. Russ picked up the stuffed animal and hurled it out of his cube, surprised at the exclamation that followed. “Hey there, big guy. Chill.” The yellow ears of the rabbit poked up over the side of his wall, Mike’s bright eyes right behind. “Mr. Fluffy is our friend. Let’s adjourn to the coffee machine, and you can tell me how your night went.” “Last night?” Ian’s blond head appeared over the other cube wall. Russ looked into his hazel eyes and then back at his desk as he quickly realized there was no escape. “What happened last night?” Mike smiled and the resemblance between him and the stuffed rabbit became obvious. Russ couldn’t help but glance at Ian again, and the two of them shared a quick, unspoken laugh at the similarity. “My man Russ here went out to work his magic and spread a little love out in the world. I’m about to pump him for the gory details. You want to join us?” Russ watched as the open expression on Ian’s face disappeared. He couldn’t help but cringe at the realization he had made Ian’s engaging smile fade away. He could now officially add dimple killer to 18

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder the list of his sins. “Oh, uh, no. You guys go ahead.” Crap. Both Lacey and Sandy were chatting in front of the coffee machine. Russ stood sullenly to the side as Mike pushed past them, absently handing the yellow rabbit off to Lacey. “What do you guys think about decorating the office for Christmas?” Lacey asked excitedly. “I brought in garland, and tinsel, and some other stuff I found in my mom’s storage unit. Sandy brought some in too.” She tucked the rabbit under her arm, but Russ knew the damn thing was still looking at him. Why did he feel so guilty? He didn’t do anything. “I think it sucks.” Russ meant to hang back, but instead there he was. Mouth open, ready to insert foot. “How can I concentrate on the Easter deadline when everyone around me is all gaga about Christmas? And what’s up with you people anyway? There’s no snow; you can’t have a decent snowball fight. Nothing in this state even reminds me that it’s supposed to be Christmas other than the stupid music and some decorations on a palm tree.” Four pairs of eyes stared at Russ after his outburst. Mike, Sandy, Lacey, and the damn rabbit. Make that five—Ian had walked up beside them. Lacey looked ready to cry. “Somebody woke up on the McGrumpy side of the bed this morning.” Sandy shook her head. “We really need to work on your attitude, Russ. I count on you to help keep the morale of the team high.” “You didn’t score last night, did you.” It wasn’t a question. Mike shook his head sorrowfully. “Don’t worry. I’m not out of ideas yet. We 19

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder can still fix this.” * * * “ YOU think the holly will look all right over here?” Ian asked. “We can go all around the ceiling with the longer pieces and then maybe add some of the contrast color and those hanging paper things Sandy left.” “Sure.” Russ was still confused as to how he had been talked into staying after work to hang Christmas decorations with Ian. Unable to concentrate after the scene at the coffee machine, he’d sat at his desk in a daze, so busy avoiding Mike and his thousand and one suggestions that he couldn’t remember what he had agreed to when Lacey and Sandy cornered him at his desk and read him the riot act. At least Ian was talking to him again instead of silently watching him. “Why are we doing this when I’m supposed to be thinking Easter thoughts?” Russ asked. “Christmas? Happy Holidays? Season’s Greetings?” Ian grunted, stretching his arm higher as he stepped back to check the position of the garland. “Any of those ring a bell?” “But it’s not even snowing. How can anybody get excited about the holidays when it doesn’t snow?” Russ knew he was repeating himself, but he had to struggle not to stare at Ian’s ass despite the way he morphed into Suzy Decorator right before Russ’s disbelieving eyes. “Why are you living in Florida, exactly?” Obviously not satisfied Ian moved the stand of garland an inch higher and gave Russ another one of the weird looks he’d been giving him all day. Distracted, Russ answered without thinking. “Because it was as far from home as I could get at the time.” Shocked at the truth he had given away, Russ swayed and almost fell off the wheeled chair he 20

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder balanced on in lieu of much-needed but nonexistent ladder. He grabbed at his end of the long streamer of fake holly before it could hit the floor. He looked to see if Ian had caught his slip. Ian had taken off his gray, button-down shirt, and the black, sleeveless undershirt worn underneath it did nothing to hide a single muscle from Russ’s overactive libido. Russ tried to change the subject before Ian could respond. “Is it hot in here?” “Nah, just you.” Ian grinned at him, lean cheeks crinkling into those familiar dimples, and Russ’s strange feeling deepened. “Mike would say you’re having a hot flash.” “Mike’s an ass.” Russ used his free hand to wipe at the sweat collected on his forehead. Talk about torture. He stared at the tufts of coarse hair visible when Ian raised his arm overhead once again, biceps bulging and forearms flexing as he held the reflective green strands against the corner in yet another position. Russ swore under his breath and shifted to find a more comfortable fit in his trousers. “He’s your friend,” Ian teased as he used the Lacey’s stapler to tack the garland to the wall. “Actually, he’s told me a lot about you.” “Lies, all of it vicious lies.” Russ replied automatically, busy watching Ian step lightly off the chair he stood on (no wheels, the lucky bastard) and walk across the room to Russ. “Some of it’s pretty interesting.” Russ struggled not to notice that when Ian stopped, his face stayed level with Russ’s crotch. “Apparently you are quite the legend.” Ian’s voice sounded lower than usual, rougher. Russ felt a strange sense of unfamiliarity. He knew Ian, didn’t he? “Shouldn’t believe everything you hear.” The sweat rolled down 21

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder Russ’s face, and Ian’s closeness made him twitch uncomfortably. Why wouldn’t Ian stop looking at him? “I’ve learned all about how you don’t do relationships. How you only like one-night stands and never do the same guy twice.” Ian licked his lips, and Russ tried not to fixate on the moisture-slicked surfaces. “Put together with some of the stuff you’ve told me, and it’s all beginning to make sense.” “Did I mention Mike has a really big mouth?” Russ replied weakly. Pink. Ian’s lips were a pale pink. God, he was in trouble. He was definitely going to kill Mike tomorrow, right after he killed himself. “The only question I kept asking myself was why you never hit on me. And you know what?” Russ swallowed, unable to answer as Ian’s hands moved in slow motion before coming to rest on Russ’s thighs. “I think you’re afraid you’ll come back for more.” The chair rocked with Russ’s sudden jerk, only Ian’s firm grip keeping him upright. Oh shit. Russ’s mind went totally blank. Ian was right. “Russ?” “Yeah?” Russ stared down into Ian’s hazel eyes. They were more gold than green tonight. Arousal, sharp and unexpected, jolted through him as Ian turned his head and rested his cheek against the front of Russ’s pants. “You can let go of the holly now,” Ian whispered. Russ swore he felt the heat of Ian’s breath despite the fabric as he shivered. His arms dropped to his sides and he didn’t know what to do next. After telling himself Ian was off-limits for so long, this new and surprisingly 22

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder grabby Ian had him totally blindsided. “Are you going to make me climb on that chair?” Ian smiled, not his usual cheerful grin, but one darker and edged with purpose. Russ thought there should be singe marks on his pants where Ian’s palms rested on his ass and urged him down to the floor with gentle pressure. “Ian?” Russ questioned unsteadily as he obeyed Ian’s commanding grasp and allowed himself to drawn off the chair. “What are you doing?” “Don’t worry, Russ.” Ian’s deep voice soothed Russ as he tightened his grip on Russ’s hips and pulled him close enough to press their lips together. “You’ll figure it out.”

4 RUSS wouldn’t even have called the delicate caress a kiss. Just a light brush that made Russ close his eyes to better concentrate on the sensations the faint pressure roused. He tried to remember all his reasons why this was such a bad idea but couldn’t come up with one. This was good. This was better than good. He knew Ian’s lips curved into their ever-present smile as he stepped back and started to speak, but Russ decided he didn’t want to hear any more words. He let his fingers trail across Ian’s muscular forearms, holding Ian’s hands on his hips. Russ kept his eyes shut, afraid to look up as he chased after Ian’s lips, and he shuddered when Ian eagerly slid his tongue into Russ’s mouth. Their lips caught and held as they learned 23

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder each other’s flavor. Coffee and cherry candy. Ian tasted a combination of the two, and Russ thought he’d die for the right to kiss Ian like this all day— long, sweet, and slow. He felt overheated and dizzy with the reality of Ian pressed up against him. His head spun, and he didn’t notice when Ian moved them toward the couch in the foyer until the cushioned edge bumped the back of his thighs “Russ.” Ian sighed as he finally broke the kiss. “What am I going to do with you?” Ian was using that voice again. Russ’s breath caught in his throat, and his eyes squeezed shut with the surge of desire created by the low rumble. “Whatever you want?” he finally managed to force out, unable to help the way he turned the statement into a question. Ian chuckled. A low, heated noise that made Russ shiver in response. Ian stroked one big hand down Russ’s back to the curve of his ass, and long, clever fingers pressed against the seam of Russ’s pants, massaging the material deeper into the crease. “Oh hell.” Unable to help himself, Russ covered the line of Ian’s jaw with wet, open-mouthed kisses and ground his crotch onto Ian’s leg, seeking the pressure of the firm muscle against the hard ridge of his cock. “You want this, don’t you?” Ian whispered again. He worked the seam deeper between Russ’s cheeks, moving in small, almost delicate circles until Russ wanted to rip his pants out of the way and let those fingers slide against his skin and slip inside. “You want me?” “What do you think?” Russ muttered helplessly, searching for Ian’s lips and another heated kiss. “Tell me what you want, Russ.” Ian’s hand moved back up to 24

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder Russ’s spine, and Russ sighed with pleasure when Ian finally pushed underneath Russ’s shirt and rubbed the soft skin spot above his tailbone. “Ask me for it.” Russ thought he would explode from the sound of Ian’s voice; hot and ohsodirty right next to his ear. “Anything. Everything. I don’t care.” His voice sounded raw and needy, and Russ couldn’t believe Ian had him so worked up with only a few kisses and touches. The room spun; Russ felt dizzy and disorientated. Then his face pushed against the cushions and Ian pressed close behind him. He moaned when Ian pulled his pants and briefs down to his knees, all the while muttering wonderfully filthy things into Russ’s ear. The words didn’t matter, only the want and need that made everything sharp and clear enough for Russ to understand the meaning behind Ian’s rough fumbles. “Oh yeah.” Russ’s hips flexed instinctively up and back as he took the tube of hand lotion Ian must have borrowed along with Lacey’s stapler and opened the bottle. He groaned as he squeezed out the creamy fluid, and his stomach fluttered as he watched it cover Ian’s shaking fingers. Russ bit his lower lip, bracing himself on the couch, spreading his thighs wide against the tension of his pants caught beneath his knees. There was a second when Russ knew how he must look: the contradiction between his submissive position and the latent power visible in the broad muscles of his back and shoulders. He wondered if Ian saw it, if he got off on the contrast, and then there was no more time and no more thought. There was only Ian’s fingers trembling against him before two pressed deep without further hesitation, the sweet sting, and the burning stretch, and then the needy sounds the two of them made as they groaned. 25

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder Russ dropped his head down beneath his shoulders, his mouth open and his breath harsh as he pushed back onto Ian’s fingers. Too soon, but he couldn’t stop. He fucked himself slowly, relishing the pressure and the building sensation of pleasure, the drag and slide until everything inside him relaxed. He savored the sharp intake of breath as Ian watched him rock back and forth. Ian moaned each time Russ pushed against him and leaned down to lick at the light sheen of sweat coating Russ’s skin. “You should see how you look.” Ian bit the words out across the sharp indentations of Russ’s spine. His mouth was hot and wet as he sucked dark splotches to the surface. “The way you’re opening yourself up for me—” Russ grunted at Ian’s shudder. Before Russ managed an answer, a way to share the impact of Ian’s verbal seduction, his coherency vanished with the addition of a third finger, and nothing Russ could do or say made any sense. All he knew was the thrust and circle of his hips until the grip of Ian’s other hand forced him to stop. “Enough. God, Russ. I can’t wait.” Damn, but Ian was good at this. Russ lost track of time, but Ian’s pants were down now as well and their skin clung, cemented together with damp sweat. Russ ached at the emptiness when Ian’s fingers disappeared, but before Russ could mourn the loss, the heavy weight of Ian’s body draped over him. Russ reached back to stroke Ian’s hip. His want was fueled by the tension under the taut skin, the heat from Ian’s burning flesh melted into his, and Ian’s hands gripped at his hips roughly. The air surrounding them became charged with electricity, sparking as Russ heard the crinkle of the small packet and then finally knew the smooth, hard thrust of Ian’s cock between his thighs and the insistent 26

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder press against where he’d stretched himself slick and open. Ian hovered for a breathless second, body motionless except for his hands. They traveled greedily over Russ’s arms, caressing and squeezing the firm muscle until Russ shivered and moaned again. He shoved his face into the couch and spread his legs wider in welcome. “So good.” Ian gritted out against Russ’s neck. “It’s going to be so damn good.” With those words the wait was over, and Ian slowly rocked his hips forward. Small, tiny pulses and Ian lost himself and pushed deep at the same time Russ gave up waiting and pressed back in demand. Russ couldn’t help but tremble. He panted, breathless as he rode the sensation of being stretched around Ian and Ian, hot and hard and so alive inside him. It was overwhelmingly intimate, and he wanted to run and hide away before he broke into a million pieces. But Ian knew, and Ian wouldn’t let him hide. Instead Ian pulled him up and back, settling Russ down on his cock, driving deeper as his hands stroked over Russ’s neck and chest, soothing and arousing at the same time. “Come on,” Ian breathed. His teeth caught the curve of Russ’s ear, guttural murmurs lost in the side of Russ’s neck. His fingers dug deep into Russ’s skin, splayed out against his belly, and held him firm as they rocked together. Sweat and tension built until Ian hit that perfect spot, and Russ had no choice but to let everything go. “Yes,” Russ managed to grate, his voice cracked and broken by the rush of sensation. “Oh God, yes.” Russ’s focus narrowed around Ian. The sharp thrusts of Ian’s hips. The width of Ian’s thick cock inside him. Ian’s lips biting against his neck. Ian’s mouth incoherently whispering dirty, beautiful things, and Ian’s heartbeat thudding into Russ’s back. Without even trying, Ian Fiorillo had become Russ’s entire world. 27

Season’s Greetings * Chrissy Munder Ian reached down and wrapped his lotion-slick fingers around Russ’s aching cock, and that was all it took. When he opened his eyes, Ian was slumped against him, his tongue tracing a bite mark Russ didn’t even know he’d received. Ian’s breath sounded rougher and heavier than it ever had after a run, and Russ was too damn relaxed to care that he was twisted up in the garland of holly they’d tried to hang. Ian rested his check against Russ’s shoulder and pressed a soft kiss to the moist skin as he carefully slid out of Russ’s body. Russ murmured his displeasure, and then Ian was back, his fingers tracing incomprehensible patterns into Russ’s hip as he took a deep, steadying breath. “You okay?” “God, yes,” Russ managed to repeat with a soft laugh. Ian snuggled up behind him, and their chests rose and fell in unison while Ian recovered. Russ didn’t mind; he wanted to stay right where they were without moving. “I’m great. Better than great. Hell, I’m never going to be able to look at this couch the same.” Russ could feel the vibrations in his chest when Ian laughed. “You certainly decorated it. Probably not what Lacey and Sandy had in mind.” Ian pulled at the string of garland wrapped around Russ’s ankle. “So have I changed your mind?” Ian asked, hesitant for the first time that evening. “About Christmas in Florida?” Russ shrugged. “I think you’ll have to try a little harder.” He twisted, stroking his hand against the side of Ian’s face and watched as Ian closed his eyes with relief and pressed a kiss into his palm. “About you? Absolutely.” “In that case….” Ian muscled Russ around to face him and drew him closer for another slow and sweet kiss. “How about I show you the Florida version of a snowball fight?” 28

Got Mistletoe Madness?

The Dreamspinner Press 2009 Advent Calendar is available at http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com.

The joke in CHRISSY MUNDER’s family is that she was born with a book in her hand. Even now, you’ll never find her without a book or seven scattered about. Forced to become a practicing realist in an effort to combat her tendency to dream, her many years of travel and a diverse assortment of careers have taken her across most of the United States and shown her that there are two things you can never have enough of: love and laughter. Visit her web site at http://www.chrissymunder.com/ and her blog at http://chrissymunder.livejournal.com/.

Season’s Greetings ©Copyright Chrissy Munder, 2009 Published by Dreamspinner Press 4760 Preston Road Suite 244-149 Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover Art by Paul Richmond http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com Cover Design by Mara McKennen This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite 244-149, Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ Released in the United States of America December 2009 eBook Edition eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-340-7