Christopher's Medal (13 page)

That was why he had been so afraid when he’d fallen for her so fast, because he’d known there would be a goodbye. Six months seemed like nothing, but he remembered how it was before, in 2007, how every day had dragged. This time it would be worse, because he had someone to miss. It had been hard enough only seeing Grace every other weekend when he wanted so much more of her. Christopher knew that she would be all right, she had her job, it would keep her occupied. She was strong and he thought that was one of the things he loved about her, that she didn’t let him define her. She didn’t seem the least bit fussed that he was an officer—only that his job would take him away from her.

He tightened his hands around the steering wheel and pressed on, driving through the early autumn rain.

* * * *

“I have good news and really shitty news.” Christopher handed her another plate to dry.

Grace looked at him. Rain splattered against the kitchen window. September had blown in, full of threats of autumn. She didn’t think it had stopped raining for days. The yard was scattered with puddles where bits of straw stubbornly lingered and the horses huddled miserably at the back end of their boxes.

“I’ll take the really shitty news first,” she replied, knowing what it was likely to be. They had skirted around the reality of Christopher’s deployment for the entire summer.

He set the washcloth down and leaned against the sink. “We’re off to Afghanistan at the end of the month.”

She slipped into his arms and rested against him. His hand, still soapy, stroked her hair. “Ouch. That is really shitty news.” ‘Shitty’ didn’t cover it. Grace hated the sound of the words and hated the way they sat like a stone in her stomach.

His lips brushed her forehead. “I’m sorry, Gracey. There’s no way to sugar that particular pill.”

“I know.” She glanced up. “What’s the good news?”

“A week’s embarkation leave before we go. I’ve been thinking. One of the chaps has a cottage that he lets out. Would you be able to come away with me for a week, Gracey?”

“Yes. I can’t think of anything I’d like more. Where?”

“Pembrokeshire, it’s an old mill in a village on the coast. I’ve seen pictures, it looks nice. There’s a beach and nice places to walk. There’s a couple of pubs. What do you reckon?”

“It sounds lovely.” Somewhere where they didn’t know anyone, where they wouldn’t be interrupted by morning stables or well-meaning relatives. “I can think of nothing I’d love more.”

“Good, I’ll sort it out with him.” He sighed again, his breath warm against her cheek. “I’d like to say that I can’t wait, but I know what comes afterwards.”

Grace stepped back and touched his face. “I know. I’m going to try not to think about that. I’m going to try my best to make you forget about it for a week.”

“That’s why I love you,” he whispered. “Because you are the only person who can help me forget.” His hands were in her hair.

Grace smelled the dish soap and, beneath it, the scent of his cologne. “I don’t want to waste a minute.” She kissed the clean line of his jaw.

“Neither do I.” His hand drifted down her arm and curled through her fingers. He leaned over and turned off the light, leaving the kitchen in a leaden, rainy gloom. “Come to bed with me, Gracey. Help me to forget.”

She locked the door and followed him into the bedroom.

* * * *

“Do you ever use that laptop?” Christopher lifted a week’s worth of
Racing Posts
from the top of the computer and flipped it open.

Grace handed him a glass of wine. “Yes, I usually look at form and races and things like that on there.”

He took a sip of wine. “Do you have an email account?”

“Yahoo and a BT one for the yard. Why?”

“Do you have a messenger type thing?”

“Yes. I haven’t used it for ages, but I do have it.”

“Good, if I can get my hands on the welfare laptop, we can chat.”

“It hadn’t even occurred to me. There was me thinking I’d be spending my mornings watching for the postman.” She looked at him. “How is it that you know your way around my computer yet you had me put my phone numbers on your mobile?”

“It was a new phone and I liked the idea of you touching it. Does that sound creepy?”

“A little, yes, in a romantic kind of way. You’ll have computers?”

“At the main base, and we’ll have use of a welfare laptop when we’re out in the sticks. It won’t be quite the same as being here and it’ll be bloody difficult talking to you and not being able to hold you.” He kissed her hair. “But it’s something.”

Grace wiped her eyes. “It’ll be hard.” She couldn’t trust herself to speak above a whisper.

“Grace.” His voice was hoarse. “Darling, I know you’re trying to be brave. It’s all right. You don’t have to be stoic on my account. I’m the one who’s supposed to be the big brave soldier. It won’t be a picnic and all I want is to get through it all in one piece and come back to you.

“If it’s all right, can I keep my car here? I hate to think of it sitting around in London gathering dust. At least if it’s here, you can take it for a run now and again to keep it going.” He grinned. “I know you’ve been dying to get your hands on it.”

“It is nice, and flashy. I promise I won’t take it on the motorway at midnight and thrash along at full speed.”

“No, you will not.” He tweaked her ear and smiled. “I’ve changed the insurance to include you so behave yourself.”

“I will, I promise.”

“I’ve got some personal bits and pieces, clothes, books, that sort of thing. I don’t want to leave them in London while I’m gone. I’m going to box them up and have them shipped here. Is that all right?”

“Yes.” There was something comforting about having his belongings stowed in her house, a reason for him to return. “Provided you’re not sending a whole lorry load, there’s nothing much in the spare room.”

“I’ll leave my toothbrush too.”

Grace managed a smile. “You’ll have to come back…to claim it.”

“That’s the idea.” His mouth covered hers.

* * * *

“What do you think?” Christopher stood in the middle of the living room of the old mill cottage. Behind him, a picture window looked down onto the village and beyond, to a broad crescent of sand and the Irish Sea.

“It’s beautiful.” Grace gazed out of the window at the brilliant late September sun glancing off the deep blue water of the bay.

“It is, isn’t it?” The room was divided from a steep staircase by a huge bookshelf. “We have a choice of bedrooms.” He picked up their bags. “Let’s pick one out.”

She followed him up the stairs, lit by a skylight, which cast soft, golden light onto the wooden banisters and the worn beige carpet. He paused on the landing and set the bags down. “We want the biggest, bounciest bed, one with tough springs.”

Grace giggled. “Dirty bugger.”

“You love it.” He grabbed her by the waist. “Don’t play the prude with me, Gracey. You just can’t keep your hands off me, admit it.”

“It has to be this room,” she declared, opening the door to a bright room, flushed gold with afternoon sunlight. “Look at that view.” She stood in front of the window and studied the view. The sun was sliding to the west, tinting the rooftops with pale gold light.

Christopher stood behind her. “It is nice.”

She leaned back against him when he put his arms around her waist and kissed her neck.
How the hell am I going to get by without him? How do I deal with this?
“What’s the bed like?”

“Dunno, haven’t tried it yet.” He moved his hands lower, gliding between her thighs. “Fancy giving it a test drive?”

Grace shivered at his touch. “Is sex all you can think about, Christopher Beaumont?”

His breath was warm on her throat. “More or less. It’s your fault. You’ve made me this way.”

She turned in his arms and placed her hands on either side of his face. “It works both ways, mister. I was an innocent country girl until you came along.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment.” Christopher brushed his fingers over her breasts.

Her nipples hardened at his touch. Every nerve begged for attention. “It’s true. Did I have condoms handy when you decided to jump my bones that first night?”

Christopher’s cheeks colored becomingly. “Fair point.” He lifted the hem of her shirt.

Grace bit her bottom lip in an attempt to keep herself from wrenching his clothes off. It didn’t seem the right time to be rushing things. Not with his departure looming. It seemed appropriate to savor every moment. Instead, she edged her fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans, concealing a smile when he trembled at her touch.

“Ah…Grace. Yes.” He guided her lower, fumbling with his flies until they fell open.

She ran her forefinger over the already moist tip of his cock and was rewarded by Christopher’s sharp intake of breath. He returned the gesture, making her gasp when he unfastened her trousers and reached beneath her panties. “I think these need to come off.”

Grace stepped back. “You first.”

He glanced over her shoulder. “Perhaps we should move away from the window. I’m not sure I’m up to giving everyone a free show.”

“Oh, God.” Grace giggled. “Quick, pull the curtains!” She retreated toward the bed, shedding clothes in her wake.

Christopher drew the curtains as Grace settled onto the mattress. The linen smelled of sunlight and sea. She watched as Christopher undressed hurriedly before he reached into his suitcase and pulled a handful of condoms from a side pocket. “I could look at you all day,” he whispered as he joined her. The bed dipped under his weight, drawing Grace close. “But then we’d be wasting time that would be better spent doing this.” He covered her mouth with his.

Grace edged beneath him, wanting his weight and his heat. She parted her legs so that he could move between them. He slipped into her with obvious care, pausing only to kiss her once more—a long, breath-stealing kiss that left her scraping her fingers uselessly over his skin. He filled her, stretching her, making her ache in a way that only he could. The bed linen sighed beneath them, a church bell, chimes muffled by the window, marked the time. Christopher’s breaths quickened. He nipped at her throat and growled softly.

Grace recovered enough of herself to pull him closer. She wrapped her legs around him, forcing him deeper, wanting him to remain there. Her pussy absorbed his length, surrounded it. She felt every subtle shift, every threatened withdrawal as he drove in and out, in and out, drawing them both into the relentless rhythm. Grace’s body ignored her wishes, heat spiraled to her core. She felt Christopher’s cock thicken and pulse and the muted heat of his seed. It was enough. She gripped him, pushed upwards and rode the moment until everything fell apart in a wave of heat and light that engulfed them both.

* * * *

They walked down to the beach to watch the sunset.

“We have to do it,” Christopher said. “We can’t drive all this way and not sit on the beach and watch the sunset with a bottle of wine.”

“And plastic cups.” Grace shivered as the wind swirled across the sand. “We must be mad. It’s freezing.”

“That’s why I brought the blanket.”

She watched him while he searched for a place to sit, between a scatter of black boulders on the edge of the sand. The breeze tugged at his hair and the setting sun found fire in it.
It’s going to be so bloody hard.
“You look like a dog trying to get comfortable in its basket.”

He held out his hand. “Here, we’ll be out of the worst of the wind.”

She took it and he pulled her down onto the sand. He sat behind her and wrapped the blanket around them both. Grace settled against him and felt the slow, even thud of his heart at her back. She closed her eyes when he rested his chin on her shoulder. Seagulls wheeled overhead, fighting the wind. A few gulls ran across the sand, chasing the lacy edges of receding waves.

“This is very nice,” he murmured, his breath warm on her cheek.

“Yes, it’s lovely.” She sipped her wine. It tasted of green apples.

They sat in silence for a while. Grace watched the gulls swoop overhead, caught in the wind.

“Grace…can I ask you something?” He sounded thoughtful.

“Yes.”

“The job that you do…why do you do it?”

“Because my history degree was useless for anything and because Dad wanted me to learn the ropes and help him. He says that when he retires, he wants me to take over…if I want to.”

“Do you want to?”

“I didn’t at first. I wanted to be a teacher, but then I realized that if I was going to teach history to the level I wanted to, I’d have to teach secondary school. After seeing
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off
, I didn’t fancy that idea much. So, I took up Dad’s offer, as a stopgap until something else came along. It never did and in the meantime I decided that I liked working in racing.” She sighed. “It must be a masochistic streak in me.”

He laughed, softly.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I was just wondering. I’ve been thinking. By the time my tour is over, I’ll have been with the army for eight years. When I get back I’m going to resign my commission. I want to live a normal life.”