Christopher's Medal (5 page)

She was glad for the darkness of the stable. Her face was on fire.

Bloody hell.

“Gracey?” Her father’s voice echoed along the stable block. “Are you there?”

Bugger.

“We’re here, Dad.” Grace rose and Christopher scrambled to his feet, knocking straw from his jeans.

Her father appeared in the doorway, grinning. He looked at Christopher and held out his hand. “Hello, you must be Christopher.”

“Yes, sir.”

Grace watched her father while he took the measure of her companion, looking him up and down with the same appraising stare he used when looking at a new horse. “Well, son, it’s nice to meet you. The General has said good things about you.”

“Thank you, Mr Webb.”

“It’s Ed, just call me Ed.” He glanced at Grace. “How is he?”

“There’s no heat in his legs. I think he’s all right.”

“Good.” He patted the colt’s rump. “He’ll come on for the race.”

Grace nodded. “The owners seemed happy enough.”

“I expect they were half-cut as usual?”

“More or less.”

Her father glanced at his watch. “I expect you two will want to go off and get something to eat.”

“That was the idea, Dad. I booked a table at the Rosery.”

“Well, off you go then. I’ll take care of things here. Don’t keep the poor lad hanging around the stables when you could be off having fun.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Grace kissed his cheek and slid out of the stable with Christopher following. He took her hand when they walked back to the house.

“Do you think I passed the test?” he asked.

Grace unlocked the door and led him into the kitchen. Rain whispered against the windows. “Oh, I should think so. Otherwise he wouldn’t have let us go. He would’ve had you talking and he would’ve been giving you the third degree. I think the General has probably talked the good talk.”

“He’s not terribly subtle.”

“Perhaps not, but I’m glad he brought you here.”

Did I just say that? Jesus, Grace.

Christopher smiled. “So am I.” He caught her hand and raised it to his lips.

Grace shivered at his touch and wished they could skip dinner.

* * * *

The maître d’ showed them to a table beside the garden room window. Christopher held Grace’s chair out for her, then after the maître d’ left them, shifted his chair closer to hers, so that they both faced the garden. His leg brushed hers and Grace bit her lip. She let her leg remain next to his, feeling the warmth of him.

“This is a nice place.”

“It is. I haven’t been here for ages.”

“It has steak.” Christopher grinned. “I approve.”

“No prize for guessing what you’re having then.”

“Shall we share a starter?”

Grace wanted to share a lot more than just an appetizer. It was a start. “That would be nice.” She shivered when his foot drifted across hers.

“What would you recommend?”

“The pâté’s nice.” She let her foot glide over his ankle and down to his toes.

“That works for me.” Christopher gave her a half smile. His eyes had a gleam in them that had nothing to do with the flickering candle. “I like sharing.”

“So do I.” Grace smiled back at him, holding his gaze. She wanted him to take her hand again.

The waitress came, took their orders then returned with their drinks. Grace was grateful to take a sip of gin and tonic. Rain quickened against the conservatory windows and the tables were golden pools of light in the soft, gray gloom.

“Nice weather, this. I like the rain.”

“It’s nice when you’re not riding out in it. It’s better for staying inside and watching a good film.”

“And other things.” Christopher touched his glass to hers. “Here’s to other things.” His foot was on the move once more, grazing her calf with an easy, languid caress.

Good lord.

“Other things, like what?” Grace edged her hand closer to where his rested on the table.

He grinned. “Oh, you know, listening to music, reading the Bible, meditating, yoga.”

“Fibber.”

“All right, so I lied about the Bible and things, but I like listening to music and I like watching films too.” He took a roll from the breadbasket.

Grace watched him pull the roll in half with long fingers. “What kind of films?”

“Oh, this and that, a bit of adventure, a bit of comedy, even some girly films.”

Grace raised her eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really. Just because I’m a soldier doesn’t mean I don’t like chick flicks.” He grinned. “After all, Sandra Bullock, Meg Ryan, Julia Roberts…nice. Just don’t tell anyone, please?” His eyes glittered in the flickering candlelight.

“I promise I won’t.” She rested her chin on her hand and smiled at him.

He echoed her gesture. “Do you have a dirty secret, movie-wise?”

“Only that I’m usually so tired I almost always fall asleep before the end.”

“That’s sad.” His other hand sought hers, his thumb sweeping across her knuckles. “So there’s no point in taking you to the cinema then?”

“Not unless you want me snoring and dribbling on your shoulder, no. Save your money.”

Grace was almost sorry when the starter arrived. She pushed the plate between them and took a piece of toast. The scent of herbs rose from the pâté when she spread it across the toast. “Here you are.” She held out her offering.

He took it and held it to her lips. “You first.”

Grace took a cautious bite, aware that Christopher watched her rather than eating his share.

“It’s very nice.” She dabbed at her lips with her napkin while he finished the rest.

“Yes, it is.” He took another finger of toast and slathered pâté on it. “Your turn.”

“It’s a good thing I never ordered anything with grapes. I suppose you’d want me to peel them for you.” Grace held the toast while he took a more generous bite out of it. His lips briefly brushed her fingertip.

“Nonsense.” He grinned. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that. Massage my feet, perhaps…after a long march, but not peel grapes. I can do that for myself, thanks.”

“I don’t know about feet, but I’m told I give a good a shoulder massage.” She itched to feel his shoulders beneath her fingers, to knead his muscles slowly, feel them yield to her touch.

“I’ll have to see for myself one of these days.” He held the last sliver of toast to her lips.

They shared the last piece and the waitress pounced, taking their plate away. She returned a few minutes later with their steaks. Grace watched with fascination while Christopher spooned a generous dollop of French mustard onto his steak.

“You weren’t lying when you said you liked French mustard.” She dabbed a bit on hers.

“I’d never lie about something like that.” He carved away a corner of his fillet. “God, I love steak.”

Grace bit back a giggle. He attacked the steak with relish while she restrained herself. She didn’t want to return to the house with a full stomach, ready for sleep and nothing else, just in case… Her stomach almost curdled for a moment when she thought about the bottle of wine in the fridge and the promised
later
. She hoped Christopher hadn’t forgotten about
later.
She took her time with her meal and left a handful of chips, which Christopher finished for her.

“I know what to get you for Christmas.” She looked at his plate, empty except for a few thin streaks of mustard.

“You can’t go wrong with mustard. I’ll be your friend for life. That and Fruit Gums.”

“Not together, I hope.”

“Oh no, the Fruit Gums are for pudding.” He leaned back in his chair and covered her hand with his. “I bet you didn’t realize I’d be so classy, did you?”

“You’re certainly a good doer.”

“A what?”

“That’s what we call a horse that always eats up.” Grace, made bolder by the gin and tonic, wound her fingers through his.

“If you ate what I had to eat during the week, you’d be a good doer too.”

* * * *

It was still early and gray light left the living room in shadow when Grace set the wine and glasses on the coffee table. Christopher had made himself at home and sorted through her collection of CDs. Grace poured the wine while he found one and put it in the player.

“I haven’t listened to this for ages,” she told him when the singer’s voice crept through the room.

He sank down on the settee beside her and took a sip of his wine. “It’s an interesting mix.”

Grace laughed. “It’s my ‘chill-out’ music.” He rested his leg alongside hers and she tried not to think about that. Rain murmured on the windows and the curtains moved in the faint, cool breeze. It felt good just to sit and not have to be anywhere. The rush of the day was finally over and all she had to do was quell her turbulent thoughts. It wasn’t easy, especially when Christopher put his arm around her. It felt right to rest her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes while he played with her hair and rested his cheek against her head.

“This is nice,” he whispered. “Peace, quiet and you.”

Daniel Bedingfield was singing about not knowing what the future would bring and Grace thought it was very appropriate, especially when Christopher slipped his hand beneath her chin and kissed her. His lips tasted of wine and she trembled while he took little kissing sips. Hesitancy and desire waged a war inside her. She touched his face and kissed him back. Bedingfield gave way to Gabrielle wondering whether she should stay or go.

Christopher’s hands drifted to her hips and hers to his shirt. Juniper overwhelmed her. If she lived to be a hundred she would never forget the scent of him or the way he sighed when she kissed his throat. She quivered when the buttons of her shirt gave way to his fingers. His hand was warm against her skin, warm against the chill of the July rain. He swept his tongue over hers.

“Is this all right?” he whispered. His lips were soft on her eyelids.

“Oh yes.” Grace’s breath hitched when he brushed her nipples with his fingers. His kiss deepened and she pushed into it, sliding her hand to the front of his jeans. She smiled when he moaned into her mouth.

“Bloody hell.” His breath was warm on her skin. He trailed his lips between her breasts and across them. “Grace.” Christopher’s voice trailed away to a long sigh.

Grace curled her fingers into his hair. Moisture gathered between her legs when he slid his hand beneath her waistband, beneath her knickers. It was her turn to gasp while he caressed her slowly then returned his mouth to hers.

He pulled away, then rose in one fluid motion and pulled her to her feet. “I want you, Grace.”

“I want you too.” She leaned into him. His kisses were full of fire and fever when she backed him toward the hall. They stopped once, falling against the wall while he tugged at her open shirt, easing it over her shoulders. Grace pushed his shirt away, anxious to get to his skin, to feel it beneath her hands. He groaned when she swept her hand across his chest.

“Where’s the bed, Grace? Please?” He pressed his forehead to hers. His breath came in sharp gusts, echoing her own.

“Not far now.” She caught his bottom lip between hers, nibbling at it.

The bedroom curtains danced in the breeze, the bed linen smelled of sunlight when he lowered her into the softness of the duvet. Grace was glad she could still hear the music. She wanted the music, something to remember the moments by. Something to listen to when he had gone so that she could remember how she felt when his lips trailed from her breasts to her stomach, and he slid his hand once more beneath the waistband of her trousers. She knew that she would never forget how his smooth, warm skin felt beneath her fingers. She forgot about the world when he gathered her up and left no space between them.

He quivered against her. Grace dared to look at him. His skin appeared silver in the cool, rainy light, but there was nothing cool about him, nothing cautious. He explored her, lingering in every curve and hollow. Grace followed his example. She let her fingers drift across his chest, and down to the fine, silky line of hair beneath his stomach. She smiled when he gasped and caught her hand. He curled his fingers through hers. His kiss disarmed her. Grace kissed him back, wanting him inside her. Every move he made, every touch, reduced her to a needy bundle of demanding nerves.

“Jesus, Grace.” He sighed against her mouth. Then he sat back, before leaning over the side of the bed. “Bugger, I nearly forgot.” Christopher pulled his wallet open. “I hope I have some. It’s…erm…been a while.”

Grace tried to catch her breath while she watched him fumble through the contents. “What…?”

“Condom. I nearly forgot my manners.”

Her cheeks burned. “Oh, God. Yes. I’m afraid I don’t have any.”

Christopher pulled a foil square from the wallet. Several others scattered over the rumpled bedclothes. “Here we go.” His grin was sudden and boyish.

Grace fell a little further. She admired the calm and measured way he unrolled the condom over his cock, as if they had all the time in the world. Nonetheless, she was grateful when he returned to her so that she could wind her hands through his hair when he nudged against her. She nudged back and bit her lip when he slid into her, then paused with a long and shaky sigh. Grace felt herself adjust to him, to his presence. It had been a long time since she’d been with anyone in that way, but her body welcomed the intrusion.