Love for the Holidays (five book Christmas bundle)

by Noelle Adams

  She’d been almost relieved, however, a couple of months into the marriage, when Rose Marie started to show her true colors and Cyrus began to recognize that his wife cared more about herself than she would ever care about him.

  It had been about the same time Helen had moved to D.C. to start college. Because they were, for the first time, living in the same city, Helen had seen Cyrus more often than ever before. They started to have lunch every week or so, and Helen had really appreciated the familiarity and security of hanging out with Cyrus, since starting college had been hard. Somehow, the rumors had started around campus almost as soon as she’d arrived about the fortune she’d inherit when she turned twenty-one. Trying to make new friends when people either labeled you a spoiled princess or tried to suck up in the hopes of being connected to money and power was a very difficult task.

  At least Cyrus understood.

  Rose Marie, however, had not understood. Whenever Helen happened to encounter Cyrus’s wife, the other woman had treated her with increasing condescension and contempt.

  Helen vividly remembered one evening, when her roommate was having a sex-a-thon in their dorm room and Cyrus had said she could come over to his place to watch movies or do homework. She and Cyrus had just been hanging out in the living room—both working on their laptops, her on a paper and him on some sort of business report. Rose Marie had been at a museum board meeting until late, and she’d gotten home a little before midnight.

  She’d looked stunning in a pink, fur-trimmed suit, with her dark hair piled up on her head, but she’d completely lost it when she saw Helen, demanding that she get out of her house immediately and not come back.

  Helen had been too shocked and horrified to even respond, but Cyrus had snapped into fury. Without speaking, he’d taken Rose Marie’s arm in an unyielding grip and walked her back into the study. Helen was able to recognize the anger in his eyes, on his tense face, and in his stance.

  She could well imagine what they’d been discussing in the study, and soon she didn’t have to imagine at all since Rose Marie started to yell.

  Rose Marie berated Cyrus in loud, shrill tones for not appreciating her, for working all the time, for hoarding his money and never giving her any, for treating her like she was silly and stupid.

  “You’d rather spend time with that child than with your own wife,” Rose Marie had shrieked. Helen knew instinctively the “child” being referred to was her. “And I’m not going to put up with it. You have to decide. It’s me or her.”

  Finally, Cyrus raised his voice enough to be heard through the closed door. “You know I’ll never accept such an ultimatum. She’s my family.”

  “She is not your family! You’re not even related. I’m your family.”

  “Then for once try to act like family and think of someone besides yourself. I’m not going to stop seeing Helen. To even ask such a thing of me is appalling.”

  “Then that’s it. I’m leaving. You can have your little Helen, since she’s obviously more important to you than me.”

  That had been the last straw for Helen. She jumped up, gathered her stuff together, and hurried out of the apartment, just as she heard Cyrus tell Rose Marie that she was absolutely insane.

  Rose Marie and Cyrus had separated soon after that evening, and the divorce proceedings had been completed remarkably quickly, thanks to the Owen money and the skill of his lawyer.

  This afternoon, it was finished, just over a year since Cyrus and Rose Marie started dating.

  Helen was wiping down the sink and counter when Cyrus and his attorney emerged from the study.

  She scanned Cyrus anxiously. He was a little paler than usual, and there were shadows under his eyes. She was pretty sure he’d been working too hard and hadn’t been sleeping, but he was as well-dressed as normal, in black trousers and a black dress shirt. With his five o’clock shadow and lean, strong body, he looked masculine and sophisticated both.

  She always felt pleasure and familiarity when she looked at him. But, for the first time—ever—Helen also felt a surge of attraction. It was like she wanted him in a way she never had before.

  The feeling startled and upset her. When she’d been younger, she hadn’t even thought Cyrus was handsome. Now, of course, she recognized he was, but she’d never really thought about him that way. To be hit with that kind of visceral response to him completely out of the blue was quite disorienting.

  And it was almost certainly wrong.

  She shook it off and focused on what mattered, the fact that signing the divorce papers would have been very hard for him.

  He noticed her look of anxious scrutiny and gave her a tired smile.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Coleman,” the attorney said with a friendly grin. “You’re getting prettier every time I see you.”

  Helen smiled at the man, smoothing down her dark-red corduroy jacket over her jeans. He had always been nice and had sounded like the compliment was sincere and not because he wanted something from her. “Thank you. I hope you have a merry Christmas.”

  “You too. Merry Christmas, Mr. Owen. I hope your New Year is a good one.”

  Cyrus returned the greeting and walked his lawyer to the door as Helen finished wiping down the kitchen counter.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” he said, returning to the kitchen once the other man had left.

  Helen shrugged. “Just killing time.”

  “Sorry you had to wait. Things took longer than I expected.” Cyrus ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes momentarily.

  “So it’s done?”

  “Yes. Officially divorced.”

  “Well,” she said, feeling a little awkward and self-conscious. “At least it’s over.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m really sorry, Cyrus.”

  His blue eyes had been unfocused, but he shifted them quickly to her face. “What are you sorry about? It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I know. I just meant I’m sorry it happened at all. But I know I…I mean, I know it didn’t make things easier that I was around…I know she didn’t really…” Helen trailed off, her cheeks flushing deeply. She wanted to say something to acknowledge her part in all of this—that she appreciated Cyrus standing by her and not dropping her because his wife had been territorial and insecure—but she couldn’t figure out a way to say it.

  “Helen,” he said, taking a step closer to her. He took the dish cloth she’d been using out of her hand and put it on the counter. “What happened had nothing to do with you.”

  She just nodded, swallowing hard.

  “She would have found something to accuse me of, whether you were around or not.”

  “I know.”

  His eyes held hers intently. “She didn’t like anyone or anything that distracted from her. It wasn’t anything personal about you. It was just the way she was.”

  Helen dropped her eyes. “I’m still sorry—if my being around made things worse.”

  “You don’t make anything worse, Helen.” His voice was low and a little hoarse, and he ran one hand very lightly down the long length of her hair. She’d been growing her hair out now for years, and it was almost to her waist.

  Some tension in her chest and belly eased, since it had sounded like he really meant what he said. She looked up at him again. His eyes were poignant and exhausted. “Are you okay, Cyrus?” she asked in almost a whisper.

  “I’m fine. I…”

  When he trailed off, she prompted, “You what?”

  “I really tried to love her. I thought it could work, but maybe I was wrong from the start. She just couldn’t seem to love me.”

  “It wasn’t you,” Helen said quickly, immediately riling to his defense. “It was her. She—” She broke off the words, suddenly remembering that it was wisest not to say anything negative about another’s spouse, either during the marriage or after it ended.

  “She what?”

  Helen swallowed. Decided, since he seemed to really want to know, it w
as worth risking it. “Maybe I’m wrong, but it always seemed to me like she never really wanted to be loved. She wanted to be worshiped.”

  Cyrus stared at a spot over her shoulder for a long time. Then he let out a slow breath and admitted, “Yeah. That’s about right.”

  ***

  The drive to Clarksburg was quiet but not awkward or unpleasant. Since Cyrus seemed so tired, Helen volunteered to drive and—when she kept nagging—he finally let her.

  Helen loved driving Cyrus’s Aston Martin—one of the ludicrously expensive cars he owned. She was having a grand time when she glanced over at him in the passenger seat and saw he was watching her with a faint smile.

  “I’m doing fine,” she said, a little defensively.

  “Of course you are. Why would you think I was implying differently.”

  “You looked like you were laughing at me.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  She shot him another quick look and assured herself this was true.

  After another few minutes of silence except for the sound of the engine and the wind against the car, Cyrus asked idly, “So how’s Ben?”

  “He’s fine. He went back to Clarksburg last week to spend the holiday with his parents.”

  “Is he still dating…what’s her name?”

  “Julie,” Helen replied. “Yes, they’re still dating, and it seems to be going well, I guess.”

  Helen and Ben had dated for about a year in high school. There had been plenty of reasons for them to break up, but Helen had still been devastated when they had. It had taken a long time for her and Ben to get to be real friends again.

  They were now, though, and Helen was happy he was in a good relationship with someone else.

  “What about you?” Cyrus asked. “Things still going well with…”

  He’d trailed off as if he couldn’t remember the name of the guy Helen had recently been dating either. “Ethan,” Helen finished for him. “Yes. It’s early yet, but I like him. He flew back to visit his family in Chicago over Christmas.”

  Helen had met Ethan in Biology lab. He was a senior, and she’d loved his dark, rakish appearance and his flirtatious attitude. He’d made her feel like she was the most desirable girl in the world, which was not a feeling she normally experienced.

  “His family owns a big department store chain in the Midwest, so at least I know he’s not after my money.”

  Cyrus’s eyes were focused straight ahead, on the road ahead of them. “Just because his family has money doesn’t mean he does.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing. I was just making a comment. You always have to be careful. There are plenty of men who would just marry you for your inheritance.”

  Helen stiffened, her hands tightening on the steering wheel. “I know that. I’m not an idiot, you know. Two guys have proposed to me just this fall, and I wasn’t stupid enough to fall for them. I was just saying that I don’t have to worry about that with Ethan, since his family has plenty of money. It helps.”

  “Just be careful,” Cyrus murmured. He still wasn’t looking in her direction.

  Her gut suddenly dropped. “What do you know? Do you know something about Ethan?”

  “I couldn’t even recall his name, remember? Just always be careful with men.”

  She felt strangely upset. “I am careful with men. I always am.”

  It was true. Other than Ben, she’d never dated anyone seriously. She hadn’t even had sex yet because she was always so hesitant about sharing that much of herself when she wasn’t absolutely sure she trusted a man.

  “Is it serious with Ethan, do you think?” Cyrus asked. There was an odd note to his voice she couldn’t quite recognize.

  She gave a half-shrug, feeling strangely self-conscious, although she didn’t know why. “Not yet. We’re still just going out. Not exclusive or anything. He’s not about to propose so he can run off with my money.”

  Her inheritance was held in trust until she was twenty-one, even if she married before that age, so it was still a few years before she would have to worry about that anyway.

  “I wasn’t implying your money was the only reason a guy might be interested in you,” Cyrus added.

  “I guess you would know what it’s like.”

  “Yeah.” He let out a sigh. “That I do.”

  ***

  After dinner, Helen went upstairs to change into something more comfortable for the rest of the evening. She hesitated briefly but then pulled on a pair of soft deep-red cashmere lounge pants and a matching cardigan over a white top.

  She’d bought the outfit on a whim a month ago because she’d loved the color and the soft fabric, but she felt kind of silly wearing something like that around the college dorm—when everyone else hung around in flannel pants and sweatshirts—so she’d never actually worn it before.

  But the color was festive, and the Owen men would often lounge around in highly unloungeable clothes, so she felt it was finally a good time to wear it.

  She brushed out her hair down her back and stared at herself in the mirror. The deep red color made her skin, lips, and eyes look very fresh and vivid, and she liked the way the soft fabric followed the dips and curves of her figure.

  She felt very pretty and mature and was quite pleased with herself as she went downstairs. Of course, no one would actually see her except Cyrus and maybe a stray bodyguard or two, but it was still nice to look so pretty.

  When she got to the media room, where they normally watched the movie, she frowned to see it was empty. She wandered around a bit until she found Cyrus in the library.

  He was slouching on the leather couch in front of the fireplace. A fire was roaring, burnishing his face and brown hair with an orange-gold glow. With the exception of the jacket, he still wore the clothes he’d worn to dinner—tailored trousers and dress shirt—but he’d undone an extra button on the shirt and pushed the sleeves halfway up his arm.

  He was staring at the fire and holding a half-drunk glass of Scotch in one hand.

  He looked exhausted, lonely, wounded.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, walking over to him in concern. He’d seemed to take his divorce in stride—always matter-of-fact and professional about the realities—but she knew it had hurt him.

  She hated for him to hurt like that.

  He jerked, as if in surprise, and shifted his eyes in her direction, although he didn’t really seem to be seeing her. “Of course. You ready for the movie?”

  She sat down beside him on the couch, the leather warm from the heat of the fire. She tucked her legs up under her hips and leaned toward him, putting a hand on his arm. “How many glasses of that have you drunk?”

  He gave a half-shrug. “Not many.”

  She wasn’t sure about that. He’d had a couple of glasses of wine with dinner. She’d had one herself, since Drake had insisted ceremony was more important than arbitrary drinking age laws. But Cyrus must have had more than one glass of Scotch since dinner. He smelled of it strongly, and his eyes and voice were a little glazed.

  “Are you really okay, Cyrus?” she asked, squeezing his arm.

  He turned to look at her for real. “Yeah.”

  “I know you loved her.”

  “I thought I did.” He gave a strange little laugh, no more than a breath. “I was wrong.”

  She wasn’t sure what to say about that. Part of her was relieved to know he hadn’t really loved her—since Rose Marie wasn’t worthy of Cyrus’s love—but he still seemed broken somehow, and she had no idea how to fix him.

  “I wish…” He trailed off, staring again at the fire. Then he leaned over and refilled his glass from the decanter on a side table.

  Helen sucked in her breath. “What do you wish?”

  Cyrus wasn’t the kind of man who shared his feelings often or easily, so she always took it very seriously when he did.

  He took a couple of long sips of the Scotch. Then closed his eyes for a moment. “I wish I could make at l
east one relationship work.”

  She sucked in a breath again—this time for another reason. “You can make relationships work, Cyrus. Rose Marie just wasn’t the right person.”

  He let out another of those same breathy laughs. “Yeah.”

  “You can make them work,” she insisted, pulling the mostly full glass out of his hand and setting it on the coffee table. She didn’t want him to drink anymore. “All these years, you’ve made a relationship work with me.”

  He turned and looked at her with something dazed, almost confused in his eyes.

  “I know it’s not the same as a marriage, but it’s something. Isn’t it?”

  He reached an arm out and pulled her against his side, giving her an almost clumsy half-hug. “Yeah. It is. Of course it is, kid.”

  She snuggled against him, wrapping an arm around his belly so she could hug him back. Part of her liked how he called her “kid”—it felt comfortable, familiar, like an old friend. But part of her resisted it.

  She wasn’t a kid anymore.

  This wasn’t the time to object, though. She just pressed against him more snugly and squeezed his middle in the only kind of comfort she could offer. They weren’t usually touchy-feely with each other, but it seemed right at the moment and he seemed to need it.

  He still felt broken. She wanted desperately to fix him.

  He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t pull away.

  That sat that way in silence for a long time. Cyrus’s body was hot against hers. Hot and strong and familiar. Her cheek was pressed up against the side of his chest, and her arm was draped over his flat belly.

  She liked how firm he felt under his clothes. She liked that she could feel some kind of tension coiled inside him. It was intangible, but she could sense it, and it gave her a pleasant clench in her stomach.

  Maybe it was the glass of wine, but she felt like she was in a dream—like the room, Cyrus, everything was slightly fuzzy around the edges.

  His arm was still around her, and his hand had ended up tucked under one of her arms, spanning the curve of her rib cage. There was nothing inappropriate about its location, but she liked how it felt there. And, when she shifted, the side of her breast brushed against it.