Eight Christmas Eves (14 page)

Cyrus was
breathing heavily, staring at the door to the dining room where Helen had just
disappeared. His mind whirled with bewilderment, terror, and hope.

After a long
silent moment, he asked softly, “You don’t think it’s…it’s wrong?”

“Why the hell
would it be wrong? You’re not related. You weren’t even raised together. You’re
both adults, and you would both obviously be consenting. You’re just using your
former relationship when she was a child as an excuse not to act—because you’re
afraid, because you don’t think you deserve her, because you don’t think you
deserve to be happy.”

Cyrus turned to
stare at his father. His father was right. His father was exactly, perfectly
right.

“And I’m
telling you now that your dithering is driving me insane. So
do
something or I’m going to transfer you to our research facility in the
Antarctic.” With that final clipped sentiment, his father walked out of the
dining room.

Cyrus stood in
place for a long time, torn by lingering confusion. He had no idea what he
should do, what would happen now.

But one thing
he knew.

Drake Owen was
entirely capable of following through on his threat.

*
* *

Cyrus was in the media room when
Helen arrived.

He hadn’t
changed clothes—just taken off his shoes and jacket. But Helen had changed out
of her skirt and sweater and had put on the flannel pajamas Cyrus had bought
her last Christmas. They were light blue with little polar bears wearing Santa
hats on them. She’d braided her hair into two long braids that made her looked
girlish and irresistibly appealing both.

She grinned at
him, chatting casually about her present for his father—a red sweater with a
Persian warrior appliquéd on the front—and about the cider and cookies brought
in for them.

Cyrus wasn’t
sure what to say. He wanted to say something. He wanted to tell her he’d
changed his mind, that he’d realized they could be in a relationship after all.

But she was
acting like everything was normal, and he felt strange and hesitant to bring it
up.

They watched
White
Christmas
, and Helen curled up beside him as she had for the last several
years. Cyrus enjoyed being close to her, but he couldn’t focus on the movie.
His mind was whirling over what might happen, what he should say, what he
should do.

So many
possibilities had been opened up, but he still couldn’t seem to take the final
step.

When the last
swell of music started to play on the movie, Helen sighed in contentment and
looked up at him. “I’m so glad to have Christmas with you, Cyrus.”

He swallowed.
“I’m glad to have Christmas with you too.”

She nodded, her
face still glowing with something he couldn’t quite identify. Then she
stretched up to kiss him on the side of the mouth.

And that was
it.

Cyrus couldn’t
hold back anymore. He bit back a groan and took her head in both of his hands,
sinking into a deep kiss.

She kissed him
back willingly, eagerly. Her arms twined around his neck, and she raised
herself up on her knees so she could reach him better. Her lips opened sweetly
to the advance of his tongue, and Cyrus was completely overwhelmed with her
warmth, her passion, her affection.

When she pulled
her mouth away, he couldn’t stop kissing her. His mouth trailed down the line
of her jaw and along the curve of her neck. Her head fell back, and she
released a pretty moan of pleasure that went right to his groin.

“Cyrus,” she
gasped, when he slid his hands down to cup her bottom.

“What, baby?”
he asked huskily, still brushing his lips against her delicate skin.

“Cyrus, please
tell me I’m not waiting for nothing.” Her hands were curved around his head,
sometimes gripping and sometimes stroking his hair. He loved the feel of them.

He lifted his
head and looked down at her flushed face. “You’re not,” he murmured thickly.
“You’re not.”

Something
transformed on her face, lit up. “Really?”

“Really.” He
leaned forward to kiss her softly. “I love you so much, baby. I want you so
much.”

“I know you
do.” She was breathing in fast pants, and her hands had moved forward to cup
his face. “I know you do, but you didn’t think you could have me. I’ve been
waiting so long. And the truth is I’m getting a little impatient.”

The tenderness
and cleverness mingled in her expression, and it embodied everything he loved
about her. He groaned and pulled her into another kiss. After a long interval,
the tightening of his body alerted him to the fact that he’d better stop. So he
tore his mouth away from hers.

She collapsed
on his chest, and he wrapped her in his arms.

“You don’t have
to wait any longer,” he murmured, knowing he was committing himself, knowing
there was no way out now, knowing it was exactly the right thing.

She straightened
up and peered at his face, seemed to see the truth reflected there. Then,
incongruously, she pulled the bands out of her hair and started to pull out the
braids.

“What are you
doing?” Cyrus asked, his brows drawing together.

“These braids
make me look like a kid,” she explained. “And I’ve got these silly pajamas on.
Maybe I should change into something more attractive if we’re going to have sex
at last.”

“I like your
pajamas,” he said, tangling his fingers through her long hair that was wavy
from the braids. “I bought them for you. You look beautiful.”

She sniffed
disdainfully, but then straddled his lap. “The pajamas will have to do, since
I’m just not going to wait anymore.” She ground herself eagerly against his
groin, evidently delighted when she discovered he was already getting hard.

“Oh damn,” he
bit out, cupping her ass in both of his hands. “Baby, are you sure?”

“Of course, I’m
sure. I’ve been sure for a whole year. You’re the one who was dilly-dallying
all this time.”

Cyrus couldn’t
keep his hands off her anymore—she was everything he wanted, warm and willing
and eager, on his lap. She gasped when he slid his hands up under her flannel
pajama shirt and caressed her nipples with his thumbs. Her head fell back, and
her lips parted in obvious pleasure. As he kept fondling her, her gasps changed
to low moans that did torturous things to the ache in his groin.

She was so
beautiful, so responsive, Cyrus’s vision glazed over. Summoning the last of his
control, he eased her off his lap and stood up.

She made a
squeak of objection. “No!” she demanded, “No! You can’t change your mind now!”

He stared down
at her, uncomprehending for a minute. Then he realized what she thought. “No,”
he said hoarsely, “I haven’t changed my mind. It’s just that, if I don’t take
you to bed now, I’ll have to just take you on the couch.”

She giggled,
her face relieved and excited both. “Well, that wouldn’t be the end of the
world.”

“Come here,
baby,” he said, reaching down to swing her up into his arms. “Let me take you
to bed.”

“No objections
here.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him fondly on the jaw.
“I love you, Cyrus Owen.”

“Good,” he
said, starting toward his bedroom with her in his arms, vaguely hoping he
wouldn’t run into anyone on the way. Surely his father and the domestic staff
would know to stay out of the way this evening. “I love you too. I’m sorry it
took me so long to get it together. I just kept thinking I wasn’t allowed. I
couldn’t have everything.”

“Well,” she
said tartly, “you can’t have everything, but you can have
me
.”

He
did
have her, and he couldn’t help but acknowledge that she had him too. She must
really love him. She’d waited for him for a really long time. She hadn’t given
up on him, however many reasons she’d had to do so.

Until she’d
entered his life, he’d never known what it was to truly trust and be trusted,
to know and be known, to love and be loved.

Tonight was
just one of a long series of Christmas Eves they had spent together, but it was
the first in another long line of them—where they’d be together in an entirely
new way.

He realized it
was exactly as it should be, and it wasn’t going to change—not as long as he
was breathing.

It had been a
long time coming, but they had a lifetime of Christmas Eves waiting for them
after all.

***

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Storm
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. If you would like to contact me, please feel free to email me at
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