Christopher's Medal

by S. A. Laybourn

  “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 finge
rs 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.

  Her pussy clenched around him. She nipped at his shoulder when he moved, in a vain attempt to halt her onrushing orgasm. She didn’t want to come too soon. She wanted to enjoy the novelty of every tremor, every sigh. Grace loved how he fit her, how he felt so right.

  The music faded away, replaced by the song of the rain and the rhythm of him when he began to move within her. She clung to him. Whatever had brought him to this place didn’t matter, because she knew this was no rushed fumble in the dark. She pushed impatience aside and tasted the salt of his skin. She ran her hands over his arse, relishing how his muscles tensed and relaxed with each thrust. When she covered his mouth with her own even the rain song faded away, lost to the sound of his quickening breath and her cries as he filled her and drove her apprehension away. She held onto him when he cried out against her throat and fell into her arms.

  They rested in silence for a long time. The rain returned and with it, the soft growl of distant thunder.

  “This is a very good place to be right now,” Christopher said.

  “It is.” Grace kissed his forehead.

  “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He shifted against her and draped his arm across her waist.

  “Nor me.” She looked at him, stretched alongside her, pale in the gathering dusk. God. How did someone this beautiful end up here, in my bed? Music drifted in from the other room, once more, a sad song from a musical. Grace tried not to think of the words, they made her cry and she didn’t want to do that.

  Christopher inhaled the scent of Grace’s skin and rested. He didn’t want to lose the feel of her skin, her closeness. It felt right to lie stretched out beside her while the rain whispered against the window and the curtains shifted idly in the cool breeze. He loved her silence and the peace that came with it. She felt like coming home on a cold winter’s night, a lazy Sunday morning, coffee and spring sunlight. He tried to make sense of how he felt and failed. It was enough that he was there and she was holding him, her breath ruffling his hair.

  “There is one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Can I borrow your toothbrush?”

  “Aren’t you an army officer? Shouldn’t you always be prepared?”

  He kissed her left breast. “That’s the Boy Scouts, darling.”

  “I knew it was something like that.”

  Christopher wanted her again.

  Lightning flickered across the room. Grace rose to meet him when he reached for her, and he lost himself in her once more.

  Chapter Three

  “Hi.”

  Grace leaned into the bank of cushions and hit the ‘mute’ button on the remote. “Hi, yourself.” She glanced at the clock. It was a minute or two past seven, right on time again. “How are you?”

  “Glad it’s Friday. It’s been a crap week. How about you?”

  “Same here.” Grace reached for her glass of wine. “I’m glad it’s the weekend.”

  “I wish I had it off. I wish it was last weekend again.”

  “So do I.” Her insides turned to molten liquid when she remembered. She hoped she didn’t sound too needy, too wistful. Her stomach rumbled.

  “Good lord, was that your stomach?”

  Grace blushed. “Um…yes.”

  “You haven’t eaten yet?”

  “I can’t decide between curry or shepherd’s pie.” She really fancied pie and chips from the chip shop down the road in Exning but didn’t want him to know that. It struck her as a bit sad to confess to a hankering for mystery meat pie and spot-inducing chips. Her stomach growled again.

  Christopher chuckled. “You’d better make up your mind. It sounds like your stomach is about to mutiny.”

  “Have you had your tea?”

  “Oh yes, officers’ mess, the usual slop. I would kill for steak and chips. Did I tell you that the most dangerous place in the world is standing between me and a plate of steak and chips?”

  “I’ll bear that in mind.” Grace found it hard to imagine Christopher being dangerous.

  “Am I making you hungrier?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Hmmmm, I sense that you’re not thinking about food.” There was laughter in his voice. “If it’s any consolation, neither am I.”

  She blushed. “Nonsense, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a good girl, I am.”

  “Of course you are, my dear.”

  Grace heard his smile and wished he was there. “I’m very, very good.”

  “I won’t argue with that.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself.” It was hard not to want him. The memory of his touch made her curl up into the cushions in search of warmth and comfort. She was afraid to ask if there would be a next time. Experience had taught her not to ask too many questions in that direction.

  “Thank you. I think we’d better change the subject or I may have to take a cold shower. What are you doing this weekend?”

  “Dad’s goi
ng racing so I’m working. I don’t mind. It keeps me out of trouble.” It was too late, she was already in trouble—falling fast for a man who was well out of her league and worse, a family friend of one of the yard’s most important owners. If it went pear-shaped, there’d be hell to pay. “What about you?”

  He sighed. “Working, I’ve got masses of paperwork to get through.”

  “Oh, poor you.” She sipped her wine. “Paperwork sucks.”

  “Did I just hear you take a drink of something? You’re not getting drunk again, are you?”

  Grace giggled. “My first glass of wine, that’s all. Though on an empty stomach it probably isn’t the best decision.”

  “I’ll probably have a few tomorrow night, in the officers’ club. Not the most scintillating company, but the whiskey’s not bad. I know where I’d rather be.”

  She closed her eyes and caught a drift of his cologne in the fabric of the cushions. It was hard to see where this was going to go.

  * * * *

  In her dream, Christopher kissed her awake, much as he had done on that Sunday morning. He covered her face with tiny, light kisses, her chin, her jaw, the tip of her nose, her eyelids. His fingers trembled when they traced the curve of her throat. His voice was a soft whisper when he told her that she was beautiful, that she was his Epona, his Rhiannon.

  Grace woke, cold and disappointed, when the gates clanged open and Jane, one of the stable lasses, drove into the yard for evening stables. Grace lit a cigarette and sat, knees under her chin, while she stared out of the window. The racing clouds of the morning had knitted together to form a dull, gray blanket. The scent of rain was in the breeze. She stubbed out the cigarette, found her shoes and her jacket then went out to put the horses to bed. Jane was already filling water buckets and Pavel, who lived in the other cottage, had started on the hay. Jane and Pavel got the evening feeds ready while Grace hosed cold water onto the off-side foreleg of a filly with a questionable tendon. She squatted close to the floor and absently stroked the warm, slightly bowed leg while the filly nibbled at her hair and jacket.