Eight Christmas Eves

by Curtis, Rachel

  ***

  “I’ve got the best present for you,” Helen said to Drake Owen as they were all getting up after Christmas Eve dinner. She grinned at him endearingly. “I can’t wait to see you open it.”

  “Please tell me it’s not another Christmas sweater,” he drawled, his eyebrows arching alarmingly.

  Cyrus chuckled, enjoying his father’s consternation and Helen’s teasing smile.

  “Oh no,” she said, her eyes wide. “It’s much, much better than that.”

  His father groaned, and Cyrus laughed again.

  “You’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning to open it,” she said. She stepped over and then stretched up to kiss his father on the cheek affectionately. “Merry Christmas, you magnificent man.”

  His father’s face softened, just momentarily. Cyrus wouldn’t have even seen it if he hadn’t been specifically looking for it. “It’s about time you recognized my remarkable qualities,” he murmured dryly, smiling down at Helen. “Merry Christmas, my dear.”

  Helen’s face was fond and laughing as she looked up at his father, and it got even softer when she shifted her gaze over to Cyrus. “I’m going to change clothes before our movie,” she told him before she turned to leave.

  Cyrus watched her as she walked away, her red-gold hair long and shiny down her back and the curve of her ass lush and full. He had no idea how it had happened, but over the last twelve Christmases, she had done something miraculous to his life, to his father’s.

  He had no idea who or what either of them would be without her.

  He was so distracted by the warm emotions that he forgot to guard his expression, and all of his feeling must have been reflected on his face.

  When he turned back, his father was arching his eyebrows quizzically.

  Cyrus fought a flush of self-consciousness but didn’t say anything.

  “How long do you think that woman will wait for you?”

  Cyrus blinked, taken completely by surprise.

  His father didn’t wait for an answer. “She’s been remarkably patient with your unforgivable vacillation, but she’s going to soon give up and find a man who isn’t afraid to take what he wants.”

  “Dad,” Cyrus said hoarsely, suddenly overwhelmed with confusion. He never confided in his father. He never confided in anyone but Helen. At the moment, however, he needed to talk to someone. “I don’t know—“

  “You do know,” his father interrupted sharply. His expression was highly displeased. “You simply won’t act. And she deserves so much better than that.”

  “I know she deserves better,” Cyrus gritted out, “Why do you think I’m reluctant?”

  “You are not in the position to decide for her what’s best for her. You only decide for yourself. It doesn’t matter what she deserves. It matters what she wants. And, for some ungodly reason, she wants you.”

  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,” sh
e 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.

  ***

  Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review. You can also check out my first book, Storm Front. If you would like to contact me, please feel free to email me at rachelcurtisauthor@gmail.com.