by Renea Mason
“Thank you, that was very thoughtful. I’ll have to give it a try. I’ve been fighting nightmares for a while. How did you know?”
“I didn’t. I think every beautiful lady should be able to form her own world, work it like clay, and mold it to what she wants. This book will help you do that.”
“Sort of like the power of positive thinking?”
“Something like that.” He winked.
I looked down and noticed mud on the underside of his pant leg where he sat on the ground.
“Oh no, your suit!”
I made to stand but slipped, and my hand came to rest on his thigh. His eyes widened and he sucked air through his clenched teeth, causing a hissing sound.
Was that shock in his features? Had I hurt him? “I’m so sorry…” As I went to pull away, with his arm on mine, I saw them. The same symbols as the book. They were a darker shade but still subtle, almost the color of freckles, and covered the surface of his forearm. I couldn’t help myself; I ran my fingers over the intricate pattern on his wrist.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s nothing.” He took a deep breath, carefully brushed my hand away, and then pulled down his sleeve. “Well, my Light, I have an important meeting to attend. Enjoy your book. Remember, only happy thoughts.”
“Only happy thoughts,” I agreed and added mentally of you. He rose and ever so lightly kissed the top of my head. He offered no reassurance I’d see him again—just smiled and walked away.
I blurted out, “Thank you.”
He swung a hand in the air as acknowledgment. As he drove off, I waved. The things he made me feel frightened me. Seeing him again was bittersweet. The good news, I got to see him. The bad news, if it was a delusion, I was in much deeper.
* * *
That night I took the book home and wrote one name in it. Cyril. I knew it was ridiculous. He was too old, too mysterious, too everything. I had only graduated several months ago and still had several months to wait until the winter solstice, my birthday. I’m sure all Cyril saw was a bizarre child who sat in cemeteries. He was probably a doctor, maybe even a psychiatrist. I’m sure his wife kept a tight rein on him, but that didn’t keep me from fantasizing about what his lips would taste like, or how his hands would feel on my skin.
I returned to the cemetery the next day and about thirty minutes after I found my place, the black BMW arrived. He parked in the same spot and unraveled himself from the car.
“Come on,” he said as he gestured in the opposite direction.
He was impeccable again. I rose from my cross-legged position, using my hands for support. Grass and mud coated my palms, and I wiped them on my pant leg. Moving toward him, he greeted me with a large welcoming smile. He reached his hand toward me and linked his fingers in mine. It was an intimate gesture and made me pause.
“Light, is something wrong?” His tone soothed.
“Ah…no.” The feel of his hand wrapped around mine made it hard to form thoughts. It was warm, and his fingers not as rough as expected. His hand dwarfed mine in size, but touching him felt right. It made me feel whole. The same sizzling sensation from the first time we touched was still there.
“My dry cleaner is furious with me. If I ruin another pair of slacks with mud, I’m going to need to find another. And Francis is very good. We wouldn’t want that.” The impish smile crossing his face made me blush. “I found a bench down the way a bit, in the memorial park. It will be a much better place to talk, and it will save my suit.”
I smiled and let him lead.
The bench, positioned at the center in a circular monument, was surrounded by cannons from a war fought long ago. The mountains were showcased against the horizon, and the wind blew stronger. Leaves fell and gusts of cool air swept them high, only to let them glide gracefully to the ground. Cyril motioned for me to sit.
“What is your last name, Cyril?” I blurted out with no segue, no pretense.
“Aristin, Cyril Aristin. And yours?”
“Linden Hill. So what brings you here? Doesn’t your family wonder where you are? What were you doing that first time I saw you? Are you some kind of doctor?”
He laughed and it carried on the wind. I almost expected it to be echoed in the valley. “You get right to the punch, don’t you? Let me see if I can answer them all.”
He shot me a devastating grin, inclined his head to me, and whispered almost seductively, “Do I get extra credit if I answer them in order?”
“Sure. But you better get to answering because the clock is ticking.”
“These questions are timed?”
I nodded.
“Right away then, my lady. You, no, looking for something—no.” A wicked smile grew on his lips, and he squeezed my hand that rested on his knee.
“Wait, that’s not fair. I can’t even remember what order I asked them in.”
His baritone laugh echoed with vibrancy and power. “My turn. Did you write in the book last night?” His thumb made small circles on the back of my hand.
It took much concentration, his touch distracting. “Yes, I wrote something in it.”
“Excellent. You made sure it was good?” His brow wrinkled while he waited for my response.
“Yes, I think so.”
“That’s all that matters. Now let me see, does anyone know you come here?”
“Why, are you planning to kidnap me?”
Horror crossed his face. “Gosh, no. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about how that might sound. I was interested in why you come here.”
“I come here to get away from…family trouble.”
“I’m sorry.” He squeezed my hand again.
“It’s not all that bad.” I squeezed back and gave a reassuring smile.
“You know, I think I’ve been too easy on you. I have a few more questions. Will you indulge me?” His grin made me chuckle.
“Sure, why not?”
“Do you have any hobbies? What do you study at school? Have you ever seen Clement Burleighes? When did you have your first kiss?”
“Oh, my… I don’t think I can remember all of them but let me try. Hobbies? Hmm. I like to journal, sing, and play the piano.”
“You play? So do I.”
“I’m not very good but I did get a scholarship to study music at Berklee.”
“Impressive, when do you start?” He slid his fingers between mine and caused marvelous chills to rush through my body. I shivered.
“Are you cold?”
“No, sorry.” In hope that I wouldn’t have to explain the tremor that possessed me, I hurried to answer his question. “I should have started this semester, but instead I’m taking a few classes at SHU.” I paused for only a moment to think, not leaving him time to ask anything further or question my explanation. “Have I ever seen Clement Burleighes?” With that one, I gave him a stare as if he grew six heads. “Of course not. He’s in a grave over there and he’s been dead since 1810. What kind of question is that?”
He shrugged.
“Is it so I wouldn’t balk at answering your last question? Ask something ridiculous so I won’t notice how embarrassing the last question is and answer anyway? Is that your plan?”
He smiled and it was one of a man who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Now that’s…” He shot me that flirty grin again, but in a mocking tone said, “That’s impressive. You saw right through me. So, your answer?”
I tried to turn the tables. “I still can’t remember which one of your answers corresponded with which question I asked.”
His tone turned serious for a moment. “If I answer them again will you actually answer the last question?”
“Yes.”
“No, I’m not a doctor or a lawyer or a politician, in case you wondered. I come here to see you. What little family I have doesn’t know I’m here. When you saw me the first time I was looking for a friend.”
The breeze picked up and gave me a chill; I glanced up at him. “You really came her
e to see me?”
He released my hand and instead wrapped his arm around me, pulling me closer to his warmth. “Yes. It’s your turn.” His look encouraged me to continue.
I groaned. “As for a first kiss, I can’t really answer that. Unless you count under the monkey bars with Kevin, my neighbor, when I was five. I’ve never really wanted to kiss anyone. I guess that’s not true, but the opportunity never presented itself.” My face flushed.
“Who have you thought about kissing?”
I wanted to say you, but figured it wasn’t appropriate.
“Matt Williams. He’s a guy in my calculus class. We banter and I think he’s fun, but again, no opportunity.”
“So you would kiss him if given the chance?”
“I suppose. He’s fun. We’re making a T-shirt of me for him to wear because he likes to don himself in images of strong, independent people. I challenged him because he was wearing a Marilyn Manson shirt and I told him he should make one of me. He agreed and it’s all getting out of control.” I blushed.
“I agree with your Matt. I like a woman who can hold her own. It’s amusing and to think, you feign opportunity and here you are the little pickup artist.” He stared at me and rubbed his hand up and down my arm.
“Hardly.” I hid my eyes in embarrassment. The breeze blew again and I shivered.
He unwound his arm, rose, and removed his jacket. “Here, put this on.”
The jacket was high quality, heavy, expensive, and made me nervous. I inhaled the scent of musk and deep forest. Mixed with the smell of leather filling my nostrils, it was the epitome of masculinity. It was like being blanketed in him. Intoxicating.
“So, do you think your cleaner will fuss when he has to get the smell of me out of your jacket? Surely that’s worse than mud.”
Something happened then that became the subject of my fantasies for many nights. He leaned his head forward, and at the same time tilted it to rest on my shoulder. Tucking his nose into the crook of my neck, he inhaled. I trembled. The bristly feel of his stubble on my shoulder and cheek caused my breath to hitch. His warm breath blew against my neck, and his hand on my arm was hot. He exhaled ever so slowly. Every time his breath hit my neck I shivered. A tickle caused me to lean my head against his to hold it there.
He said nothing for the longest time and the sensation of his closeness, the feel of his skin against mine, my eager desire to be needed by him, settled in my stomach. My gut became a mixture of tremors and tightness, like going over a steep hill on a roller coaster. The sensation didn’t stop there. Wetness between my legs unlike anything I felt before called for him to touch me, to kiss me, anything to heighten the connection. His breathing labored.
Then he whispered, “Nonsense. I would bottle your scent and bathe in it if I could.”
He raised his head and looked me in the eyes. His pupils dilated and his eyes hooded.
I stared back, silently begging for anything he was willing to give me.
He inclined his head and I thought he might kiss me, but a frigid breeze caused me to shiver. He turned toward the wind and said, “Come, let’s get you back. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”
I rose with him and we started toward his car with my hand in his. The leaves swirled up around our feet and I playfully kicked them on the way back. When we got to his car, I started to remove his coat.
He placed his hand on my shoulder. “You can keep it if you’d like.”
I continued to shrug out of the jacket and said, “Thank you, but it doesn’t match anything in my wardrobe.” I gave him a teasing smile. “Not to mention, it hangs past my knees and I need an extra foot taken off each arm. Besides, it’s a very expensive jacket and if I kept it, your cleaner would be out of a job.” I handed it to him.
He reluctantly took it and said, “Oh I almost forgot.” He reached in the inside pocket of the jacket and handed me a CD. It was Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. “I figured you might want to listen while writing in your book. Autumn is a good track for a day like today. Do you listen to much classical music?”
“No, other than the bits and pieces I play during my piano lessons. Thank you for the CD. Good night, Cyril.”
“Good night, Linden.” His words held a reverence as he bent to kiss the top of my head.
A melancholy mood took hold as I turned to leave.
“I could drive you home.” He reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear.
“It’s probably best I walk, but thank you.”
I turned back around, as he called out again. “Oh, and Light…sweet dreams.”
Sweet dreams indeed. I smiled and started my journey home. I heard the door close but the car did not start right away. He had me so worked up I needed the walk. One final glance over my shoulder and I started counting the minutes until I could see him again.
Chapter Nine
Cabin
Cyril came to visit me almost every day after that. He missed our meetings when work called, but most days we spent several hours together. Each time he gifted me a CD with pieces he would task me to listen to, and then we would pick the scores apart.
Anytime my questions got too personal he would run a finger along my cheek, caress my arm, or rest a hand on my knee and I would forget to ask again. I knew it was an avoidance tactic, and I should have been pissed, but once he touched my skin, I couldn’t find a reason to care. We teased each other in ways not quite sexual, but intimate. It was as if we needed to recharge one another. I walked the line between thinking he thought more of me than that crazy child, and knowing for certain that was all I could be to him. It didn’t keep me from contracting that ailment called hope.
It was a crisp November evening several weeks later, when I spied the black BMW snaking up the serpentine cemetery road. My anticipation caused me to be extra early, so I didn’t miss a second of his presence. That day I had a true surprise. He wasn’t wearing a suit, but a plain white V-neck T-shirt with no pocket, and a pair of snug jeans. The sight of him made my mouth go dry. I never realized just how unbelievable the man was beneath the garments.
How was I going to survive today?
I could barely walk, let alone form thoughts. He crossed to me. His strides were long and in no time he stood in front of me. He smiled, wrapped his arms around my waist, and kissed my hair. I burrowed my face into his chest and was encased in his scent as my cheek lay against his hard muscles. I hugged him tighter. Against my stomach I felt a bulge in his jeans. My face flushed. Being so close to him did things to me, my body reacting in ways I didn’t fully understand. If he noticed, he never acknowledged it.
We stood silent for several moments. His heartbeat thumped against my ear, and his grip tightened. He then pulled away, keeping his arms around me. I looked up into his face.
He looked down at me. “Do you have any plans for today?”
I shook my head.
“Great. Then I’ve got plans for us. I hope you don’t mind. Come on, we’re driving.” He grabbed my hand.
I hesitated for a moment. I wasn’t afraid of going, but there was something about him being relegated to the cemetery that made him surreal. I could explain him as a fantasy here, but if I interacted with him while others were present, it would only lead to more hope.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Never thought you would.”
What an odd thing to say. He had been nothing but kind, giving, and gentle with me, but I could sense there was something else. Something feral.
“Then let’s go.” He pulled me toward the car, opened the door, and helped me inside.
The car was beautiful. It was black with a rich, deep brown leather interior. The instrumentation on the dash was more high tech than anything I had seen before. I ran my hands over the leather seats and watched intently as he folded himself into the car.
I giggled. “I think you need a bigger car.”
“Nonsense! I like the feel of her wrapped around me, like she’s part of me.”
He made no effort to hide the innuendo. I flushed and glanced out the side window. I didn’t want him to see my reaction.
He continued with his metaphor. “Just as any man would want to feel his dance partner or lover. Driving should be more than a destination; it should be an experience.”
If he was planning on talking like that, I was going to combust. I wondered what had gotten into him.
“Where are we going?”
“And spoil the surprise? Never.” He smiled. “Today is all about us. Nothing is going to ruin it. I have wanted to show you something for so long. It’s Saturday. You and I have all day. There is much I want to show you.”
He grabbed my hand and kissed it, his lips like fire. The flush returned to my face, anticipating his next move, wondering if he would kiss me for real today.
I reached up and turned on his stereo. Chopin’s Impromptu filled the air. It was beautiful and the sound system caused the notes to sound so pure. He kept hold of my hand after kissing it. He stroked the back of it with his thumb, in time with the music, while he expertly navigated the car up and down winding mountain roads.
I didn’t want to break the mood, but before hope grabbed me by the throat I needed to know. “Cyril?”
“Yes, Light?”
“Can I ask you a few questions?”
“Sure.”
“I mean, will you actually answer them?”
“If I can, I will.”
“Are you married?”
He laughed. “No, why would you think that?”
I ignored his question. “Have you ever been?”
“No,” he said, and then, “Why do you ask?”
“I was wondering how someone like you hasn’t been snagged up, and why you seem to spend all your time with me.”
His brow furrowed. “Now that’s a ridiculous question.”
I waited, but he provided no further explanation. Given the edge to his voice, I decided to hold my questions and savor the moment.
After driving for well over an hour, an impressive gated entrance made of stone and iron appeared out of nowhere. Cyril pressed a button on his steering wheel and the gate opened, revealing a long cobblestone driveway. The car swayed from the uneven pavers. We pulled up to a beautiful house made of cedar and stone. Cyril parked the car on the circular driveway and in a flash was at my door to open it for me. A rush of flowing water hit my ears, and I looked for the stream.