The Captain's Cornish Christmas Read online

  Jago tried not to laugh. That bloody man bun. That bloody surfer, in fact.

  Before taking his seat again, Jago wrapped his arms around Sam, who at that moment was carrying a tureen of cranberry sauce. “Well, you can have your rugged hero now, Sam. I’m all yours.”

  “Two things you need to know before you tell me that.” Sam took a deep breath, the sort of deep breath one only takes before some horrendous confession.

  Married? Please God, not married.

  “First, I can’t surf to save my life and second, I have a habit of spending decadent afternoons lounging about on yachts.” Only then did he smile, quirking one eyebrow. “Fancy joining me when the weather gets a bit warmer?”

  “Definitely. On one condition, though.”

  “I won’t have a man bun and I won’t wear ironic flip-flops. Otherwise, name it.”

  “I will only lounge about decadently on your yacht if we both can be naked.” Jago stroked his hand through Sam’s hair. “And I’m very glad you don’t have a man bun.”

  “It’s a deal, cap’n.” Sam kissed Jago gently. “Now sit, and enjoy a proper Christmas with your brand-new, black-eyed boyfriend.”

  Jago was about to kiss Sam back when a familiar miaow made him aware that Peregrine had jumped onto the table. “Peregrine, for heaven’s sake, boy!”

  He lifted him up, but rather than put him on the floor, Jago sat with Peregrine on his knee. The cat put his front paws on the table and sniffed the enticing aromas in the air.

  “Like I said—he has dreadful table manners.”

  “Is he allowed a little plateful?” Sam held up a side plate. “He has been a wonderful sous chef after all.”

  “He’s after the turkey!” Jago kissed the top of Peregrine’s head and the cat purred like an outboard engine. “Your Uncle Sam has been spoiling you today, hasn’t he? Pilchards, and now turkey… Who’s a lucky cat?” Jago, his head tipped to one side, smiled up at Sam. “More to the point, who’s a lucky lifeboat captain?”

  “Not half so lucky as the author in his kitchen!” Sam finally finished loading up the plates, including one for the very spoiled cat. He poured out champagne and took his seat with an exclamation of, “Merry Christmas to us!”

  * * * *

  Jago checked his watch. “Ten minutes and I’m no longer on call! For a couple of days, at least! Although I hope no one calls in now—I’m so full, I’m not sure I can move off the sofa.”

  Having polished off most of the Christmas dinner, with some left spare, the captain and the author had relocated to the lounge. Sam, with not a trace of hipster cool, had insisted on both of them wearing their paper crowns, but those flimsy keepsakes had long since been swatted away and mercilessly hunted by Peregrine, who was now dozing happily on the back of the sofa behind them.

  “You don’t need to, you’ve got all these snuggly blankets!” Sam put his hand lightly on the fleecy blanket over the arm of the sofa. “I’ll tuck you in right here before I head off into the cold.”

  Wind gusted down the chimney. Jago shuddered. “That northerly’s got up.” He put his hand over Sam’s. “Thanks so much for today. It’s been lovely. It’s been—well, apart from the year I got the Millennium Falcon for Christmas, this has been the best Christmas ever.”

  “I’ve still got my Falcon,” Sam admitted. “Not only am I boring, I’m a real nerd too!”

  “Mine’s in the spare bedroom.” Jago grinned. “Bring yours round and maybe we can have a play date one day?”

  “It’s deal. Let’s make this the first Christmas of loads of Christmases?” Sam caught Jago’s hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “Now I’d better say good night. You’ve had a hell of day. You’ll need to get some sleep if you’re still on for that Boxing Day pint?”

  Jago planted a soft kiss on Sam’s cheek, just below his black eye. “I’m looking forward to that pint. And all those other Christmases to come.” They were jumping ahead somewhat, but now that they were together, Jago knew that Sam was one man he would go to the ends of the oceans to be with. “I shall escort you to the door, good sir.”

  Careful to avoid disturbing the sleeping cat, Jago got up from the sofa, his hand still in Sam’s. He opened the front door and the cold wind blasted into the cottage. Despite it being nearly midnight, the narrow street outside was sparkling with light, and the two men looked up to see snow beginning to fall, quickly covering the cobbles and the roofs of the cottages.

  “A white Christmas and you.” Sam beamed, his eyes sparkling as bright as the stars in the clear sky. “What more could I have wished for?”

  “I know what I’m wishing for.” Jago rested his chin on Sam’s shoulder, grinning. “I’m worried that the path up to your house might be a bit slippery in the snow, and you’d be marooned here in the village. But where on earth would you sleep?”

  “Especially if your spare bedroom is filled with Star Wars figures.” Sam pouted. “There’s always the sofa if you can spare a blanket, snuggled up next to the Christmas tree and dreaming of the boy in the bedroom?”

  Jago brushed his fingertips across Sam’s pout. “I wouldn’t want us to rush ahead, but…you’re welcome to snuggle up with me in my big, warm bed. And we can see where the night takes us.”

  “Shall we to bed, sir?” Sam grinned. “We can watch the snow fall over the harbor.”

  Jago closed the front door behind him as he began to kiss Sam again, with lips as soft as the snow falling outside. He broke away for a moment. “I’ll have to put Peregrine in the kitchen. We don’t want him watching us from the top of the wardrobe. It’s…off-putting.” He laughed, awkward at such a domestic concern in the way of their romance. “And by the way—I’m no longer on call. Unless, that is, you have an emergency—I’m always on call for Sam Coryton.”

  “Would a joke about mouth-to-mouth be too corny?” Sam asked.

  “Almost!” Jago’s heart hammered against his ribs. This is perfect. “You grab the remains of the champers, I’ll stick Peregrine somewhere he can’t cause havoc, and the big bed, my darling, awaits.”

  Sam offered a salute before he kissed Jago on the cheek. “See you back here for snuggles?”

  “Yes, First Mate Coryton!” Jago kissed him in return.

  Peregrine stretched as Jago came back into the lounge, apparently assuming that he would be heading upstairs with his friend. He uttered a miaow of protest as Jago took him to the kitchen, but was soon placated with another slice of turkey and one of Jago’s old jumpers in a cardboard box.

  “All shipshape below decks,” Jago told Sam as he returned to the hallway. He slipped his arm around his waist. “Ready to cast off?”

  “Aye aye, cap’n.” Sam nuzzled a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s retire to quarters.”

  Holding Sam’s hand, Jago led the way up the steep, narrow stairs to the top of the house. His bedroom was free of boyhood toys, apart from an antique toy yacht on the windowsill. The necklace of harbor lights twinkled beyond through the falling flakes. And, as Jago had promised, his bed was indeed huge, an inviting nest more than big enough for the two of them.

  “Snow’s really coming down now,” Sam told him as he refreshed their glasses. “Lucky you’ve got a nice cozy scarf to keep you warm.”

  “I never gave you your present.” Jago reached into his pocket. “Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

  Sam obeyed, his long lashes falling as he held out one palm. Jago placed the lifeboat pen into his hand.

  “It’s not much, but the shops are shut! Thought it might come handy.” Jago kissed Sam’s cheek. “Open your eyes now.”

  “Now I can take you with me wherever I go!” Sam closed his fingers around the pen and laughed merrily. “Thank you, darling!”

  “Next Christmas, I’ll get you something much better than that.” Jago chuckled. “A pen with a yacht on it!”

  “And next Christmas, I’ll make the Christmas pud!”

  “I bet your Christmas pud is divine.” Jago took a mouthf
ul of champagne. His glance drifted from Sam to the bed. “Would you like to snuggle up? It’s getting chilly.”

  “Let’s get comfy!” He slid the pen carefully into his pocket, then pulled that blue jumper over his head, revealing a black T-shirt beneath. The gesture left Sam’s hair tousled and he paused, hands at the buckle of his belt.

  Jago sighed at the sight of Sam. He’d seen him naked yesterday, but that messy hair sent a jolt of desire through Jago, even though Sam was still clothed. He put aside his glass and joined his hands with Sam’s on his belt. Nuzzling his neck, he whispered, “All I kept thinking about, after I found you on your yacht yesterday, were your red boxer shorts. Are you wearing another pair today?”

  “This pair’s an even brighter red,” Sam assured him. “Vivid.”

  Jago murmured with anticipation. “Does that make you my Secret Santa?”

  “Why don’t you unwrap me and find out?”

  Pressing his mouth to Sam’s in a deepening kiss, Jago began to unbuckle him. The cold of the metal and the warmth of the leather against his hands sent a thrill through him. Surprising himself as much as he doubtless surprised Sam, with one swift movement Jago whipped the belt out of its loops and dropped it to the floor.

  He laughed gently. “Sorry, Sam—got a bit carried away there!”

  “Don’t you dare say sorry,” was the reply. “Just keep on going.”

  With one hand, Jago unfastened Sam’s trousers, his other hand tangling in his hair as he kissed him. He heard the trousers fall to the floor and Jago pulled away. His heart leaped at the sight of Sam’s pristine pair of bright red boxer shorts.

  A very obvious shape was contained within, but Jago wouldn’t comment on it. Not yet. It depended where this Christmas night was headed.

  “Oh, yes… Those will do very nicely.”

  “How do you feel about this T-shirt?” Sam quirked his eyebrows. “Get rid?”

  “You do look good in it.” Jago held the hem, considering the garment as if Sam were in a fitting room. “But if you want to strip off, who am I stop you?”

  Sam crossed his arms and took hold of the bottom of the shirt. He peeled it off deliberately slow and dropped it on the floor. Those red shorts were all that remained now. Now that Sam wasn’t hurling himself off a bed to hide his nudity, Jago could take in his physique. Toned, muscled in just the right places.

  “You’re perfect,” Jago whispered. Sam blinked, his expression genuinely bewildered. Then he looked down at himself before moving forward to kiss Jago.

  “That’s perfect,” he concluded.

  Jago’s cheeks heated with a blush. He brought Sam’s hand to the hem of his jumper. “I don’t suppose—you wouldn’t mind helping me out of my things, would you?”

  “I would love to.” He felt Sam’s fingers tighten, then Sam swept the jumper up over his head. Jago lifted his arms for a moment until they were freed and Sam threw the garment down atop his own discarded clothes.

  Jago’s slate-gray grandad shirt was revealed to view. Grinning at Sam, he started to unbutton it. He was stripping for Sam Coryton—but not the author, not the man on the dust jacket, nor the man who turned up in Cornish tourist information brochures extolling the virtues of the rugged coastline. No, this was Sam Coryton, Jago Treherne’s…boyfriend.

  Sam’s fingers met Jago’s and together they unbuttoned his shirt. Then Sam placed his palms flat on Jago’s chest, sliding them lower as their lips met again. Jago caught sight of their reflection in the mirror as they kissed. He gasped. They really did make a handsome couple. Hoping Sam wouldn’t find his own underwear boring, Jago unfastened his jeans and let them drop.

  Sam’s hands swept over Jago’s flat stomach and his gaze followed their path. Jago saw how low it moved before it returned to his eyes. “You’re bloody gorgeous, Captain Treherne.”

  “That’s good, because you are too.” Jago traced his fingertip down Sam’s cheek. “Let’s get in that bed, King of Cornwall Noir.”

  Sam laughed. He took Jago’s hand and together they crossed to the bed. Jago swept back the covers and they tumbled onto the mattress, the blankets settling over them like the snowfall.

  They kissed affectionately, mouths and hands exploring. Jago felt such tenderness in Sam, even when his kisses and caresses grew heated. This man could never hurt him. They paused for breath and Jago slid his hand tentatively across Sam’s red shorts, over the hardness that Jago had only seen an impression of yesterday. He whispered, “Sam, I have to ask you something. And it’s rather saucy, but I’m dying to know… Can you guess what?”

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “Just before I barged in on you yesterday—who were you thinking of?”

  Sam laughed and replied, “Oh, you don’t want me to tell you that, do you?”

  “Was it…” Jago placed his fingers just at the opening of Sam’s shorts. “Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire? Not the horrible git bit, but he’s bloody hot in that film.”

  “Not my type—he’s a rotter,” Sam decided with mock gravity. “Who was Sam thinking of, that’s the question… What’s the answer? Do you want a clue?”

  “Yes, please. What a fun new sort of whodunnit!” Jago teased his fingertips into Sam’s shorts, forcing himself to stop before he touched his lover’s erection. He heard Sam’s breath catch in anticipation, the desire evident in his attempt to sound utterly level-headed when he replied.

  “He’s from Cornwall. Very well built, handsome…rugged, I’d say.”

  Assuming his over-the-top Cornish brogue, Jago asked, “Long John Silver?”

  “It’s this really muscular, brooding, earthy chap I saw on the quay just before I set out yesterday,” Sam explained, all innocence again. “Checking over the lifeboat, just your everyday sort of gorgeous hero, the kind you see and don’t forget. I had this idea he was going out with some arsehole in a man bun though, so all I had was my fantasies.”

  Jago shook with silent laughter. “You—you were lying there thinking of me?” He slid his hand all the way into Sam’s shorts and tenderly held his erection. “When I turned up, you must’ve thought you’d somehow summoned me by sheer force of will—or willy.”

  Sam laughed, the sound loud and joyous and utterly abandoned. “Does that make me sound like a terrible sort of bloke? What can I tell you, I like you—I’ve liked you for a long time but you’ve always been taken. I thought the chance’d gone!”

  “It doesn’t make you sound terrible at all.” Jago nuzzled Sam’s neck and did his best to stroke Sam inside his shorts. “See all those books on the shelf up there? Why do you think I’ve got yours in my bedroom? When I’ve been lonely, I’ve gone to sleep clutching one of them, and I’ve kissed your photo and said good night to you. Like a teenager with a crush.”

  “You should never be lonely.” Jago felt Sam’s hand slide beneath the waistband of his boxers, stroking softly down to caress his erection. “And from now on, I’d rather you kissed me, if that’s okay with you?”

  “That’s fine by me—your lips are much nicer than a book cover!” Jago half-closed his eyes and gasped at Sam’s touch. “So…so tell me, Sam. In this fantasy of yours, on…on the yacht. What were we doing?”

  “You were there beside me and”—he curled his fingers and began to softly jerk his wrist—“we were touching each other just like this.”

  “So your fantasy came true. And so has mine.” Jago nibbled at Sam’s earlobe and smiled. “Well—one of them, anyway.”

  “Tell me another of yours, and let’s see if we can make it happen.” He combed his fingers through Jago’s hair. “Another Christmas wish.”

  Jago sighed. “I don’t suggest we attempt this in December, but…I want to make love to you on the deck of your yacht. Naked and tanned. Am I a saucy captain?”

  “We can easily grant that wish,” Sam assured him, his hand moving with more purpose. “A captain should be saucy, shouldn’t he? Dashing too, which you are.”

  “Am I?” Jago
was about to laugh when Sam’s attentions brought a groan of bliss from his throat. Once he had control of his faculties again, he arched his eyebrow at Sam. “We can practice now—if you like.”

  “Captain Treherne!” Sam’s voice was rich with comical scandal. “I thought you’d never ask!”

  “Shorts off, First Mate Coryton, ready for inspection!” Jago withdrew his hand and began to pull down Sam’s underwear with an enthusiastic yank. Once they were safely out of the way Sam returned the favor. In fact, he seemed even more enthusiastic than Jago and the last Jago saw of his shorts that night, they were being hurled across the bedroom in the light of the snowy moon.

  Jago held Sam in his strong arms and kissed his way down from his lover’s lips to his torso, twirling his tongue over the firm flesh before taking Sam’s erection in his mouth. He looked up the length of Sam’s body, his gaze resting on lover’s eyes, which even in the low light of the room were sparkling. Then those eyes closed and Sam’s back arched as his lips parted to release a sigh of pleasure. His eyelids lifted once more and he murmured, “Merry Christmas, darling.”

  Jago responded by twining his fingers with Sam’s. He had never felt so intimate with another person as he did at this moment. Their connection was not only physical—it passed through their very souls. And he knew Sam felt it too. Sam’s body moved in time with his as though they had been lovers for years, his hips rising and falling, his hand soft in Jago’s hair, his sighs intoxicating. Each breathless moan spoke of so much pleasure, each gentle thrust of his hips a promise of what else they could share.

  Panting, Jago reluctantly lifted his mouth away from Sam and replaced his lips with his hand. He lay down beside his lover as he stroked him, and whispered, “Happy Christmas to you too. And—just so you know—I’m a very flexible sort of chap. If you know what I mean.”

  “You and me both. I think we’re going to get along.” Sam pressed his body to Jago’s, his fingertips tracing the contours of his lover’s back. “But right now, I’m wondering what it’d be like to have Jago Treherne make love to me.”

  Jago answered with a kiss, which Sam matched for intensity. Jago had never been so in sync with a lover before. They broke from the kiss simultaneously and gazed at each other—into each other—as Jago reached into the bedside table. He heard Sam’s breath hitch, then his lover dipped his head and began to slowly nuzzle kisses to Jago’s throat, spreading a delicious heat through his blood.