by Noelle Adams
“Enough,” Cyrus cut in harshly. He’d never seen the quiet man so impassioned, and the implications of Gordon’s intensity and the words he was saying threatened to rip Cyrus apart. He couldn’t listen.
Gordon didn’t say a word in response.
“I’m sorry, Gordon,” Cyrus said almost immediately. “I really am.”
“I know, sir.”
“But certain things are true, and they can never be made untrue. She’s young and beautiful and talented and vibrant, and she has a full life waiting for her. She should find a young husband who can give her a family and a long life together. She absolutely does not need to be shackled to a man almost twice her age. A man who would bring with him impossible baggage. A man who has lived most of his life not knowing how to love. I will never do that to her.”
Gordon didn’t reply, but Cyrus could see he was still arguing in his head.
There was nothing he could do about that though. His mind was made up.
It had been made up from the moment he’d seen a pretty woman with an elusive, cerebral quality that spoke to him, gazing at a painting he loved.
A motion from outside the window distracted him then, and he narrowed his eyes as he peered out into the yard.
It was Brie. She must have gone outside, and she looked as ethereal as a ghost in the moonlight, wearing nothing but a long flimsy white gown.
“What is she doing?” he muttered, straightening up. “It’s too cool out there for her this evening.”
He left the office and went out the French doors, searching the garden for Brie until he found her in the big cushioned chaise near the fountain. She was pulling a soft blanket up over her.
“What are you doing out here?”
She smiled up at him. “I wanted to see the stars.” Then she stretched her arms out toward him, and there was no way he could refuse the invitation.
He got onto the chaise with her, under the blanket. When she leaned up for a kiss, he willingly obliged. The kiss was deep and tender but not particularly urgent. Cyrus was no longer young, and he had plenty of patience and control.
He stroked her thoroughly as his lips and tongue moved sensually against hers. The cool night air added another layer of sensation, and Cyrus hazily wondered why he hadn’t been making love in the open air all his life.
He lifted his head so he could look down on her, beautiful and sensuous in the moonlight. His lips parted, but he couldn’t say anything, which was just as well. He didn’t want anything to spoil the perfect, intimate stillness of the night.
Because he wanted to show Brie exactly how he felt about her, he spent a lot of time kissing and caressing her.
He teased her nipples with his tongue and mouthed his way down to her belly. Her skin tasted slightly of the lavender bath salts she must have just used, and her body was soft and warm and pliant. He loved the sound of her accelerating breathing and how little gasps hitched in her throat whenever he found a spot she particularly liked.
He gently parted her legs to allow room for his head, and then he stroked her open intimately with his tongue.
Her aroused flesh was hot and slightly swollen, and his heart gave a little kick when he inhaled her natural scent. He lapped at her entrance, his groin twitching when she let out a low moan.
Her hands had been fumbling at the cushions, but now she moved them to hold his head in position. He held her open and fluttered his tongue as her body grew more and more tense. Then he closed his lips around her clit and sucked hard.
The tension inside her broke as she let out a sob of pleasure. Her body rode out the spasms of her release, and her fingers clutched at his hair.
He took several deep breaths as her body relaxed and her hand started caressing his head.
“Thank you,” she whispered, trying to pull his body up on top of her.
Cyrus responded to her urging and settled his pelvis between her thighs, his mind clearing a little now that he wasn’t surrounded by the scent of her arousal. The fragrance of the night and lavender was strong in the air, but it was more manageable than the deep fragrance of how much Brie wanted him.
He kissed her deeply, letting her taste herself in his mouth. Then he found the condom she’d brought with her, rolled it on, and then used his hand to align his erection at her entrance and slowly sank into her body.
Even through the condom, he could vividly feel how wet and hot and tight she was around his erection. He paused for a minute, closing his eyes so she couldn’t read the emotion that must be reflected there.
When he felt Brie’s hips begin to pump beneath him, he was ready to respond. Their bodies rocked together in a slow, rhythmic motion, and then Cyrus lowered his face for another kiss.
She opened her mouth against his, and his tongue explored her mouth with the same rhythm of his pelvis.
Brie’s hands stroked him all over—his head, his back, his thighs, the clenching muscles of his ass. They kissed the whole time, Cyrus only occasionally pulling away so he could bury his face against her neck and soft hair.
It went on a long time, but eventually Brie’s little hand explored between his legs until she found his balls. She squeezed them gently, sending shockwaves of pleasure through Cyrus’s body.
He grunted, and his body tightened involuntarily.
She kept squeezing, and her motion beneath him grew more urgent. Realizing she was close to coming herself, Cyrus let himself go, pushing inside her with faster, harder strokes.
Soon he felt her clamp down around his erection and her body shake with the tremors of her orgasm. She cried out wordlessly on a taken breath as her body arched beneath his.
At the same time, she gave his balls a hard squeeze. Combined with the pressure of her intimate muscles, the sensations pulled Cyrus into climax himself. He breathed out, “Brie, dear heart!” as the coiled pleasure surged through him.
They lay tangled together on the chaise for a long time as their bodies relaxed, and they continued to kiss and caress each other.
And Cyrus knew this was everything he’d always wanted. All the warmth and tenderness and understanding and kinship he’d been desperately searching for all his life.
He didn’t know what he could do about it.
But he knew that, at least for this moment, he was holding everything he’d ever wanted in his arms.
***
They lay in bed as long as they could the next morning. Friday morning. The morning he had to leave.
At about eight thirty, Cyrus went down to get coffee, but then he climbed back into bed with Brie. He was wearing a pair of pajama pants, and she was wearing one of his shirts and nothing else. Her hair was a tangle of kinks and flips, but her cheeks were flushed and her eyes tender and sleepy.
He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life.
They drank coffee and chatted idly, both of them prolonging the inevitable as long as possible.
He couldn’t keep her. Couldn’t be selfish. Couldn’t saddle her with his conflicted self and all the burdens that came with him—just because he wanted her so much.
He had to let her go.
Gordon came in a half hour later with a breakfast tray and smiled discreetly at Brie’s squeal of pleasure over the waffles, bacon, fruit, and cocoa.
Cyrus studied Gordon as the man unloaded the trays, and he noticed a certain expression on his face.
Gordon wasn’t displeased with Cyrus anymore, and the reason for the change made Cyrus’s heart twist a little.
In his subtle, understated way, Gordon looked satisfied. Pleased. Almost proud.
As if he’d concluded that everything was going to be all right.
It made Cyrus worry. Because he hadn’t done what Gordon wanted him to do. He hadn’t asked Brie to stay with him forever. He couldn’t do that.
He’d told Gordon as much the night before.
But Gordon looked happy anyway, as his eyes rested very briefly on Cyrus and Brie lying together on the bed.
As i
f Gordon had come to his own conclusions during the night. As if he knew more than his employer did about the outcome of this situation. About Cyrus’s future decisions. About just how long he would be able to hold out once Brie had disappeared from his life.
As if he knew more about Cyrus than Cyrus would ever know about himself.
It made Cyrus decidedly nervous.
Gordon didn’t look worried at all.
But Cyrus was still going to say good-bye to Brie forever only an hour or two from now.
***
Later that morning, Brie was trying not to cry as Cyrus walked her out to her car.
It was over now. There was no more delaying or pretending. She would never see him again.
Any flicker of hope that had still been burning died completely the day before when she’d talked to Cyrus on the bench. She’d gone as far as she could go in suggesting they leave it open for some sort of a future, and Cyrus had been very clear about it never happening.
So she had no hope left. Just very sweet memories. And aching loss now as she was having to say good-bye to him.
He’d been in a fairly relaxed mood that morning, but he’d grown quieter as the time passed. She knew he wasn’t looking forward to their parting, but his face was calm, resigned.
He wasn’t, like her, about to cry.
“Gordon put all your belongings in the trunk,” Cyrus explained when they reached her car.
“He told me when I said good-bye to him.” She was going to miss Gordon too.
She’d been holding Cyrus’s hand as they walked, but now she made herself release it. Her palm felt cold and empty.
So did her heart.
“You’re leaving later this morning?” she asked, trying to clear the lump in her throat.
“Yes. I need to meet my nephew and his family.”
“I hope you have a really good Christmas.”
“You too, dear heart.” His brown eyes were soft on her face, lingering, like he was caressing her with his look.
Or memorizing her features.
She took a shaky breath. “Thank you. For everything. I mean, the time you spent with me. It… it…” Her throat hurt so much she momentarily couldn’t speak, but with another inhale she managed to finish, “I’ve never been so happy.”
He turned his head with a little jerk, staring at a spot in the air for a moment before he met her eyes again and murmured, “Me either.”
“Okay.” She nodded. Took a breath. Nodded again. “I better go.”
He reached up and very gently stroked her face with his knuckles. “Good-bye, Brie. May all your mornings be golden.”
And that just about did her in. She had to twist her mouth and close her eyes, but even so a tear slipped out of one eye.
Cyrus brushed it away with his fingertips and didn’t say anything else.
She couldn’t speak even if she’d known what to say.
She managed to turn away, opening her car door. But she reached back toward him in an instinctive gesture, one she couldn’t possibly stop.
He took her hand and squeezed it, and their hands very slowly separated as she made herself get into her car.
She managed not to cry as she pulled her car out onto the road.
She managed not to cry as she looked back and saw Cyrus still standing in the same place, watching her drive away from him.
And she managed not to cry the whole way back to Mitchell’s house, which was empty because he and Deanna were already up at Eden Manor. She was going to drive up to meet them there tomorrow.
She unpacked her things from the trunk and found that Cyrus had left something there with her overnight bag and her trinkets in shopping bags.
A wrapped parcel.
She took it inside and carefully unwrapped it to find the painting of the fishing pond that had brought them together in the first place.
He’d bought it for her.
It was only then that she started to cry.
***
The next day, she drove a few hours north to the hilly northern part of the state. There were low, gentle mountains and small quaint towns and lovely lakes surprising her when she rounded turns. Usually she would have enjoyed the drive, but it was hard not to feel bleak and depressed.
Under normal circumstances, she would have enjoyed a Christmas at a Victorian bed and breakfast. Deanna’s youngest sister, Kelly, and her husband, Peter, had bought and restored it, and now they ran it, evidently quite successfully for having just opened earlier in the year. She loved Mitchell and Deanna, and she loved Deanna’s family, all of whom would be there. Even her crazy, intimidating grandmother.
There would be some other people there as well. Kelly and Peter’s investor and his family, she seemed to recall. She hadn’t paid much attention to the plans since other things had been occupying her mind.
It was sure to be a beautiful Christmas, but Brie didn’t really feel like being social, particularly around people she didn’t know.
She couldn’t stop thinking about Cyrus.
She arrived midafternoon at the lovely sprawling Victorian house, complete with lake, walled garden, and several different outbuildings. She felt a low stirring of interest, but she had to fight her first thought, which was that Cyrus would love this place too.
She was surprised to see Mitchell coming out the front door and heading down the porch steps and toward her car.
He gave her a hug before she’d barely made it to her feet.
“What was that for?” she asked after returning the hug. She looked up at him and saw concern on his face.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just thought you could use it.”
Ridiculously her eyes burned for a moment, but she managed to control the emotion. “I could. Thank you.” She hadn’t told him any details about what had happened with Cyrus, but he’d known there was a guy and that she’d spent more than a week with him.
And he knew it was over now.
He looked at her for a few more moments. “So the thing with that guy wasn’t quite as free and easy as you were hoping?”
She took a deep breath. “Not quite. But I’m okay. I don’t regret anything.”
“Good.” He gave her shoulders another squeeze before he got her overnight bag out of her trunk. “Deanna keeps saying I need to give you space and that I’m not to nag you about anything that happened.”
Brie couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s really good advice.”
Mitchell scowled. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
Despite herself, she felt a little better as she walked with her brother into the house. She stopped in the entryway at the sight of the stained glass windows that framed the front door.
“My God! Are these original?”
“They’ve been restored by a local craftsman,” a voice came from behind her. It was a pleasant male voice, mostly American but with just a trace of a British accent.
She turned to see a very handsome man descending the stairs.
“This is Harrison Damon,” Mitchell said. “He invested in this property when Peter and Kelly decided to take it over. This is my sister, Brie.”
Brie smiled at the approaching man, thinking he was perhaps the most handsome man she’d ever seen, other than her brother. And also thinking his chocolate-brown eyes were a lot like Cyrus’s.
A lot like Cyrus’s.
Then she pushed the thought away, determined not to let every random detail she encountered make her think of Cyrus.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” Harrison said, taking her hand with an intentional courtesy that she really liked.
That courtesy also reminded her of Cyrus, but she wasn’t supposed to keep thinking about that.
“You too. So who was the local artisan?” she asked, turning back to the beautiful stained glass panes. “He or she must be a master.”
“He is,” Harrison said. “His name is Silas Vance. He lives nearby. Perhaps you could meet him while you’re here. I believe he’s suppos
ed to come to the party tonight.”
“I would love that. I work with stained glass.”
“Do you? Then you should definitely meet him.”
Mitchell switched her bag from one hand to the other and gave her a familiar, teasing look. “I’ll take your stuff to your room. You’re just at the top of the stairs. Grandmama Beaufort is in the parlor, presiding over tea with most of the group. You could go in and say hello if you want.”
Brie tried not to gulp.
“Or you could have some hot cider,” Harrison suggested, evidently reading her expression correctly. “My wife, son, and uncle are in the kitchen. My wife would love to meet you.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Brie said gratefully. “Maybe I’ll start with that.”
“You’ll have to face Grandmama eventually,” Mitchell said in a rather sing-songy voice she knew well from their childhood. “All of us do.”
She gave him a cool glare and then followed Harrison to the left, the opposite side of the house from the parlor.
They walked into the kitchen—which had clearly been recently renovated with commercial-grade appliances—and Brie was already fixing her smile for the pretty, sunny-faced blonde who looked to be about her age, who must be Harrison’s wife.
“This is my wife, Marietta,” Harrison said, stepping in after her. He smiled down at a little dark-haired toddler in a pretty red dress who was playing with a doll. “And that’s our daughter, Melissa. And this is my uncle, Cyrus Damon.”
Brie’s eyes traveled from smiling Marietta to the little girl, who obviously couldn’t care less that she was present, to the older man sitting on a kitchen stool.
She froze when her eyes landed on him.
Cyrus Damon. She’d heard of him before although only in random news items that had never caught her interest. He was a rather eccentric billionaire who ran a huge company that did hotels, restaurants, and tearooms. He’d restored an estate in England and tried to live like eighteenth-century nobility. His family had suffered scandal and tragedy enough to keep them in the papers over the years.
He’d actually told her about a couple of those tragedies, and she still hadn’t put the pieces together.
