by Noelle Adams
But he loved this church, and he was hoping Brie would at least like it.
When she asked about the oldest part of the church, he led her to the chancel.
“Wow,” Brie murmured.
“The chancel is from the original church, which burned down not long after it was built,” Cyrus said, hoping her response meant she was starting to change her impressions. “You can see the line of demarcation here where they started building the new church around it.”
Brie stared and stared, and peered and peered, and circled around without saying a word. And the longer the silence stretched on, the more absurdly nervous Cyrus became. It didn’t really matter, he told himself, whether she liked this place or not.
“You know,” she said finally, lowering her eyes from the round stained glass window over the cross. “This is my kind of God.”
Cyrus blinked. “What?”
Brie looked a little embarrassed, as if that wasn’t exactly what she’d intended to say. “I mean, the kind of God who is… is evoked in a church like this is closer to how I’d imagine him.” She swallowed and gave him a frustrated look. “Don’t look at me like I’m crazy. I’m just not saying it very well.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Cyrus said, his voice reflecting some of his relief, despite his attempt to sound normal. “But maybe explain a little more.”
“I mean at old cathedrals and most of the grand historic churches in the States—those with pure Gothic or neo-Gothic architecture—we’re supposed to envision God as vast, awe-inspiring, miles and miles above us. And I suppose, theologically, that’s the point. We see some of that here—we get some of the Gothic uplift in the main sanctuary. But… but all the different architectural styles kind of temper it. We see evidence of all kinds of people, with hundreds of years in between, trying to worship God in their own way. It’s not pure. It’s… it’s real. And I was just thinking that this is the kind of God who might love someone as quirky and messed up as me.” She looked down at the floor as if she’d embarrassed herself. “I suppose that sounds silly.”
Cyrus experienced a wave of enlightenment, of understanding, of bonding. Her ramblings were a far deeper tribute to his beloved church than any traditional compliment or empty praise. He realized she loved it too.
He reached out to softly touch her arm. “It doesn’t sound silly.”
She gave him a smile that was almost shy.
“So are you religious?” Cyrus said before he could think through whether such a comment was wise or strategic. They weren’t supposed to be asking each other personal questions.
Her eyes flickered over to his face but didn’t rest there. “I’m not. At least not in any traditional way. My family never went to church or anything. But I believe in some things.”
“What do you believe in?” To his surprise, Cyrus really wanted to know.
She shifted self-consciously. “You’ll laugh.”
Cyrus shook his head. They both seemed to have entered the hushed mood of the place, and there was no room for irony here. “I won’t laugh.”
Brie studied his face for a long moment. Then she turned around to stare at the simple cross above the altar, glinting with the shifting light of the sanctuary. It took her a long time to answer. Then finally she said, very softly, “I believe in love and… and sacrifice—and especially when they exist together. I think it’s called… I think it’s called grace. I believe that’s the most important thing. I believe that’s what makes the world beautiful.”
In a different context, the words might have sounded either pretentious or overly sentimental. But Cyrus had no desire to laugh or cringe. He followed her gaze to the gilded Christ on the cross, the ultimate symbol of love and sacrifice for so many people, in so many places, over so many centuries of time.
For no particular reason, he thought without warning about his nephew Harrison, who’d quietly shown him unfaltering love and loyalty for so long, even when Cyrus had done nothing to deserve it.
He was moved in a completely unexpected way, and it took him a moment to recover.
She darted him a nervous little look. “I know it sounds vague and too abstract to be a real belief system. And I don’t know how it works out on the… on the cosmic level. But that’s what I believe in.”
Cyrus knew her then—in a more intimate way than he’d ever have expected to know someone whose life had just briefly brushed up against his. He understood a truth about her. A truth that exposed her, made her vulnerable.
It was a gift she had given him, and it meant something to him. “I understand,” he breathed.
They stood in silence for a long time.
Then finally Brie turned back toward him. “What do you believe in?” She almost whispered the words as if she weren’t sure how he would respond.
Cyrus instinctively looked upward, at the architecture designed to raise the human spirit toward heaven. He swallowed, and he told Brie the truth. “I believe in power.”
The nature of her silence prompted him to check her expression, and he blinked when he saw she looked disappointed.
Afraid she hadn’t understood, that she thought he was belittling her confession earlier and ignoring the mood they had shaped, he hurried on, “I don’t mean political or social machinations. I mean I believe that real power exists in the universe and it doesn’t rest in us.”
Her face changed. Like she understood.
Something relaxed in his chest and let him to continue, “That’s why we live our lives trying to cling to whatever little bits of power we have, why we’re always grappling for order and justice. But we have no real control—not over anything but our immediate actions.”
He thought about how he’d lived so many years of his life, holding on to the few threads of life he could control. “That’s why power has always been at the root of human experience. It exists—somewhere. But it isn’t ours.”
He let out a long breath, experiencing the oddest sensation. That he’d been understood on the deepest level, in a way he could never remember before.
But then he realized what he’d revealed about himself. He stiffened, had to fight not to pull away from Brie, who was standing quietly beside him.
What was he thinking, opening up so deeply to a stranger? He never opened up to anyone—not even his family.
He felt like he’d been stripped naked.
But Brie seemed to know how to respond to the moment. She gave him a little smile. “Thank you for telling me that. You know what I want?”
He managed to arch an eyebrow in a quizzical look and not drop his eyes.
“I need coffee. Shall we find a café?”
Cyrus could have slumped over in relief at the change of subject, the return to reality, the shedding of whatever bizarre spell had come over him in this place. “Sounds like an excellent plan to me.”
***
Three hours later, it was midafternoon, and Cyrus was trying to convince himself that his day with Brie should really be coming to an end.
He’d already spent more time with her than was good for him. All day, he’d felt excited, stimulated, deeply involved.
Almost young.
And now he was thinking far too much about how beautiful Brie was, how sensual her laughter was, how graceful and alluring the line of her neck, the fall of her hair, the curve of her hips.
That line of thinking would just lead him into trouble, but he couldn’t seem to rein in his mind—or his eyes. He was letting his eyes linger again on her face and body as they sat on a bench in one of the squares off Bull Street, and the bright sunshine was gilding her brown hair and clear skin a beautiful gold.
He kept reminding himself that the person he’d been today—spending time with a beautiful, intelligent, sincere, passionate, young woman without a thought for the appropriateness of such behavior at his age and position—wasn’t who he really was.
He was Cyrus Damon. He would have to go back to being that man very soon.
Brie smiled vividly at him just then, causing his heart to do a ridiculous little skip.
Maybe he didn’t have to go back to being that man quite yet.
“Are you having dinner with your sister and nephew again tonight?” she asked.
“No. Not tonight.” Cyrus remembered Gordon’s suggestion earlier, about her having dinner with him at the house. It wasn’t something he should even consider. It was completely out of bounds. It would be wrong in every way. “You could come over to my house this evening for dinner if you’d like,” he heard himself saying.
Brie’s cheeks flushed a deeper pink, and she slanted him another shy look. “I would like that. Thank you. Will you be cooking?”
Cyrus wasn’t at all sure how it had happened, but he was evidently having dinner with Brie after all. “Not me. But I can promise the food will be excellent.”
***
Brie couldn’t remember ever having such a good day.
It wasn’t just that she found Cyrus attractive—although she did, more and more, in a way she never would have expected. But it was like all of herself was engaged in being with him—her intellect, her creativity, her emotions, her physical body.
She felt whole with him in a way she never had with Chase—or with any other man, for that matter. The age difference between them didn’t seem to matter at all. They were just themselves, and they… matched.
So, by evening, she was pulsing with excitement, wondering what might happen after dinner. She knew better than to expect anything that occurred between them to lead to a future. Both of them understood this was just for a week, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t go further than talking.
She wanted to go further than talking.
She wanted to—a lot.
They parted ways to rest for a while before dinner, so she headed back to Mitchell’s house, relieved to find it empty. She wasn’t in the mood to try to explain her plans to her brother and sister-in-law, or why she was so excited about it. She looked through her clothes, spending far more time than she should have trying to decide what to wear.
She once more had the fleeting wish that she looked more elegant and sexy, more sophisticated. Cyrus was the kind of man who would probably gravitate toward those kinds of women. Not a woman with a casual, artsy style made up primarily of long skirts and tunic tops made in pretty, unusual prints.
But she made herself brush the thought aside. Over and over again she’d put aside her true nature to make Chase happy, and she’d just ended up miserable. She wasn’t going to do it again—even for Cyrus.
She ended up choosing a soft, flowing cotton dress that was flattering but didn’t look like she was trying too hard. She also picked out pretty underwear and took a long shower before she dressed.
Cyrus had given her directions, and she arrived at exactly seven o’clock. The house was in one of the historic neighborhoods, and it was beautiful in the Italianate style and very large, with a stone wall around the yard and a doorbell that chimed very loudly.
A man answered the door she didn’t recognize.
“Oh,” she said, feeling a chill of self-consciousness. “I’m sorry. Maybe I’m in the wrong place. I was looking for Cyrus.” She felt rather silly, not even knowing his last name.
“You’re in the right place, miss,” the man said. “Please come in.”
She blinked at the man, wondering who he was. “I’m Brie.”
“I know you are, miss. I’m Gordon. I’m on staff with Mr.… Cyrus.”
She caught the slight stumble over the name, and she wondered if he’d been instructed about keeping the situation first name only.
She didn’t mind. That was one of the terms she and Cyrus had agreed to.
“It’s nice to meet you, Gordon. So you, uh, work for Cyrus?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Are you a butler?” she asked, grinning at the possibility. She’d never thought to meet a real, live butler before.
Gordon chuckled and gestured down the hall. “Among other things. Mr. Cyrus is waiting for you in the garden since it’s such a mild evening.”
Brie walked through the house, which was beautifully decorated with high-end antiques, and then exited through French doors onto a paved patio. She gasped at the sight of the landscaped yard, complete with trees, shrubbery, potted winter plants, a small fountain, and even an in-ground hot tub in a far corner.
Cyrus had changed clothes too and was now wearing trousers and a black shirt. He smiled at her and looked so unexpectedly attractive and appealing that Brie felt her heart flutter with anxiety.
She was determined to do exactly as she wanted this month, but she needed to keep control of her emotions enough to not lead herself into needless heartache.
She had a tendency to jump into things headfirst. She got a degree in a field with very few job prospects. She gave herself over to relationships with men who weren’t good for her. She’d rented an apartment she couldn’t really afford.
She was almost thirty now. Eventually she would have to be smarter. And she could already tell that her emotions were in danger with Cyrus, who was the epitome of an unavailable man.
“This house is absolutely beautiful,” she said, searching for normal conversation.
“I do like it,” Cyrus murmured, his eyes running up and down her body as if he appreciated what he saw. “And speaking of beautiful, you look absolutely lovely.”
She felt herself blushing. She wasn’t sure how he did it, but he made simple compliments like that mean more than they should. He made her feel more special with a few words than Chase did when he was actually having sex with her. “Thank you. Surely this house isn’t a normal vacation rental.”
“No. It’s not. I know the owner, and he was kind enough to lend it to me.”
“It’s absolutely amazing. This garden is…” She trailed off, unsure of how to even describe it.
“Let me show you around.”
They walked around the beautifully designed garden for a few minutes, and she went into a minor fit of ecstasy over a sculpture hidden away in one corner, which was one of the most charming things she’d ever seen. When they returned from their stroll, Brie found that Gordon had set up an intimate table near the fountain—complete with candles, white table cloth, crystal stemware, delicate china, and a tall bud vase holding two perfect white lilies.
Brie’s lips parted at the beautiful table, and she turned to Cyrus with a question in her eyes.
His lips quirked slightly. “Gordon suggested dinner in the gardens. Who was I to say no?”
Brie couldn’t help but laugh although the scene was so romantic that her heart fluttered even more. She let Cyrus help her into her seat and then was well on her way to being swept away as Gordon brought out course after course of mouth-watering, gourmet food and fine, local wine.
By the time they got to the chocolate mousse—served in delicate crystal—Brie was pretty sure she wouldn’t have the will to say no to a pickpocket. Cyrus had been charming and charismatic, chatting about Brie’s work and later about the history of the churches they’d visited earlier. And his face in the moonlight and candlelight was strangely mesmerizing. Not classically handsome but with so much experience and character in the lines and contours, highlighted by those beautiful chocolate-brown eyes, that she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
When they’d finished the last of the wine and the mousse had been licked clean, Brie put down her spoon and collapsed back in her chair. “Wow. That was probably the best dinner—the best meal—I’ve ever had.”
Cyrus smiled at her, almost fondly. “Good. I’ll tell Gordon you appreciated it.”
“Who decided on the menu and… ambience?”
He arched his eyebrows in amused irony. “It was Gordon. He was very pleased about this dinner, and he might have gone a bit too far in setting the mood.”
Intrigued, Brie felt a little less boneless, so she managed to lean forward, resting her head on one hand. “Really? Does he do a lot of
matchmaking for you?”
“He never has before,” Cyrus said with a half shrug. “I was as surprised as you were.”
“Were you really? You acted totally suave, like you have romantic dinners like this all the time.”
“I doubt you’d believe me if I told you how long it’s been since I’ve had a romantic meal of any kind.”
A surge of curiosity banished a lot of her decadent languor. “How long?” she demanded.
Cyrus’s mouth twisted into what might have been a sheepish smile. “I don’t think I’m going to tell you.”
“But I want to know.”
His eyes transformed as he gazed at her. The shift was almost imperceptible, but Brie felt a shudder shape itself in the base of her spine in response to his expression. “Do you always get what you want?” Cyrus continued, his voice throaty, the texture making her shudder even more.
“No,” she admitted. “Almost never.”
“There’s something wrong with a world where such a thing is true.”
It took her a minute to unravel this comment, but when she did she was moved even more. The man didn’t even seem to be trying, but he had the knack for always saying the right thing, for being kind and romantic and civilized, all at exactly the same time.
She’d never believed it was possible before.
She knew she was treading in dangerous waters here. She was on the verge of being swept away by him completely. She wanted to enjoy herself with him this week, but she didn’t want to do something so foolish it would leave her hurt and lonely next week.
She didn’t know this man. Not really. So she could feel a resistance rising inside her, at the same time as the deep attraction.
She needed to change the mood between them. Quickly.
“Let’s walk some more,” she suggested lightly. “I could use it after such a meal.”
He stood up and took her hand to help her out of her seat. Then he didn’t let her hand go as they strolled through the gardens again.
She soon realized her suggestion might have been a mistake. The rich scent of the air, the soft moonlight, and the feel of Cyrus’s warm hand quickly went to her head. She felt unsteady, overly warm, and so fluttery she couldn’t take a deep breath.