The Perfect Match (5 page)

Unable to stop herself, she reached out and touched the tip of his erect manhood with her fingertips and then ran them slowly and a little hesitantly along the shaft.

Now it was his turn to tremble and groan, the sound emerging from deep within his chest as he closed his eyes and told her thickly, 'God, that feels so good, too good.' He suddenly tensed and groaned again, then bent his head and cupped her breast with his hand, drawing her nipple into his mouth and sucking fiercely cm it, not just to give her pleasure, Chrissie recognised with a sharp kick of female power, but also because it was what he wanted. He needed to feel the soft warmth of her breast within his mouth, to draw on it and from it in just the same way that she now ached to feel him within her.

'Now, now, please, Guy, now,' she pleaded, whispering the impassioned words between the frantic kisses, her earlier fear of losing control completely forgotten, overwhelmed by a far more urgent and important need—the need to complete the cycle they had both set in motion, to be fulfilled, to be—

Chrissie gave a sharp, piercing cry of relief as she felt Guy's first deep thrust within her body.

'You feel wonderful,' she heard Guy telling her thickly. 'We fit together perfectly, perfectly.'

Chrissie couldn't make any verbal response but she knew there was no need, the way her body was already responding to the rhythmic movement of his told him everything he needed to know.

She had never imagined that physical intimacy could be like this; that two bodies could be so well matched, fit together so perfectly that they together made one perfect whole; so completely in harmony with one another that Chrissie actually felt as though she could physically feel the ripples of pleasure that ran through Guy's body with each movement he made within her own, and she sensed that he, too, could feel hers, that he knew exactly the second when she needed the more urgent movement of his body within hers, the heartbeat of time precisely even before she cried out to him that she ached for him, craved him, had to have him, deep, deep within the most secret part of her body.

And she could feel through the strong contractions of her own release the thick pulse of his.

'Oh, Guy,' Chrissie wept emotionally as he held her in his arms.

'I know. I know,' he soothed her tenderly, gently brushing the tears from her face as he bent his head to kiss her mouth lingeringly. He drew her deep into the protective warmth of his own body, stroking her skin as though he couldn't bear the thought of letting her go.

'You feel so good, so right,' he told her emotively.

'Oh God, you feel so good.'

'I still can't quite believe what's happened,'

Chrissie confessed, suddenly a little shy. 'It's not...I don't...'

'Do you think I don't
know
that?' Guy interrupted her gruffly, taking hold of her hand and lifting it to his lips whilst he placed a kiss in her palm and then closed her fingers over it. 'And besides, what you and I have goes way, way beyond anything like any coy, false need to play games with one another. What we have...what we
can
have...' He broke off and shook his head. As she looked at him, Chrissie saw that his own eyes were filled with moisture.

'Oh, Guy,' she protested shakily. It was her turn now to comfort him, so she kissed his mouth with all the love she felt for him.

'We need to make time to talk to one another properly,' Guy told her unsteadily when she had released his mouth. 'No, not here,' he told her, reading her mind. 'If I stay here with you...' He groaned and closed his eyes. 'Have dinner with me tonight. My sister and her husband own a small restaurant. We could meet there. I daren't offer to pick you up,' he told her softly, 'because if I do...' He looked expres-sively at her still-naked body, warm and relaxed from his lovemaking, satiated...now...

But Guy was right. They
did
need to talk. There was so much she wanted to know about him, so much she wanted to discover.

'How ironic that I should meet you here of all places, in the house that belonged to Charlie Platt,'

Guy murmured to her. When he saw Chrissie start to frown, he explained, 'We never got on.'

'You didn't like him,' Chrissie supplied, turning away slightly so that he couldn't see her face.

'No, I
didn't
like him,' Guy agreed grimly. 'In fact...' He stopped and shook his head. 'Let's not talk about Charlie Platt. He doesn't mean anything to either of us, thank God.'

Chrissie opened her mouth to tell him, correct him.

'Guy,' she began, but then got no further.

'I love the way you say my name,' he told her lovingly. 'It makes me want to kiss you like this....'

'You still haven't looked at the furniture,' Chrissie managed to remind him breathlessly, ten minutes later.

'I'll go through everything another time,' Guy responded, his expression suddenly changing, his eyes becoming dark and almost brooding as he asked her huskily, 'There
will
be another time, won't there, my Chrissie, and another and another and...?' Then he was kissing her again, and between those kisses Chrissie somehow found the breath to reassure him that their times together would stretch to eternity and beyond.

It took them over an hour to shower and dress and finally manage to say goodbye.

Chrissie had written down the address of his sister's restaurant, and after he had gone she simply sat and looked at it, already counting the minutes and the seconds until they could be together again.

The telephone rang whilst she was still engrossed in her day-dream, still floating on a cloud of pure golden bliss.

She smiled dreamily into the telephone as she picked up the receiver and responded to her mother's hello.

'You sound happy,' her mother commented.

'I am,' Chrissie told her simply and then proceeded to give her a very edited version of the events of the afternoon.

Chrissie was very close to her parents and kept no secrets from them, but she was just beginning to discover that some things were so precious, so sacred tfiat they couldn't be shared with anyone other than the person they most closely concerned.

'I know it sounds incredible,' Chrissie told her mother, 'and I have to admit that if anyone had told me that Guy and I were going to fall in love at first sight, I probably wouldn't have believed them but—'

'Oh, Chrissie, are you sure...I don't think...' her mother interrupted her uncertainly. 'He sounds wonderful, darling, and of course I'm thrilled for you, but...'

'He's wonderful,' Chrissie assured her mother.

'He's more than wonderful,' she added softly, more to herself than to her parent. 'He knew Uncle Charles, by the way, although I got the impression that he didn't much care for him.'

'Did you tell him that Charles was your uncle?' her mother asked her anxiously.

'No. I didn't get the chance,' Chrissie told her.

'He's taking me out to dinner tonight, though, so I shall probably tell him then.'

There was a small pause before her mother queried doubtfully, 'Do you think that's wise, darling? I hate to pour cold water on things, but you said yourself that he didn't seem to have a very good opinion of your uncle and it might be wise not to say too much about your...your relationship with him, at least until the two of you get to know one another a little better.'

'You mean I should lie to Guy?' Chrissie questioned her mother, a little shocked.

'Well, no, of course not...at any rate not directly,'

her mother responded. She paused. 'I should hate to think that your uncle's bad reputation might cast a shadow on your happiness, darling, and perhaps I shouldn't even suggest such a thing, but people do tend to make judgements. Of course, once your Guy has got to know you a little better, then...'

'Are you trying to say that Guy might reject me because of who...because of Uncle Charles?' Chrissie asked her mother slowly.

'I don't know, darling. I would hope not, but...well, your uncle...'

She didn't say any more; she didn't need to. Her uncle, as Chrissie well knew, had been a liar, a cheat and a thief.

'But I've upset you,' Chrissie heard her mother saying sadly, 'and that was the last thing I wanted to do....'

'No, no, it isn't that,' Chrissie tried to reassure her.

'It's just...well, I hate the thought of being deceit-ful... dishonest with anyone, but most especially with Guy.' But the idea that anything, anything at all, might cast the smallest shadow on her happiness filled her with such anguish, made her so fearful for the vulnerability of her newly born love that she instinctively wanted to protect it from anything and everything that might threaten or damage it.

'Did you ask your Guy to value the desk,' her mother prompted her whilst Chrissie blushed, remembering just why she hadn't even thought about mentioning the desk to him.

'No...no, I didn't,' she admitted. 'But perhaps under the circumstances it might be better to ask someone else to value it,' she suggested. 'I wouldn't want Guy or anyone else to think that I wanted him to value it in our favour because of...well, you understand what I mean,' she tried to explain.

'Yes, yes, of course,' her mother agreed. 'And you're quite right. It's the sentimental value of the desk that makes it so valuable to me and your father.

We both agree we want to pay its full market value into the estate, even though by law I suspect that it's half my property anyway. Of course, it might be hard to prove as much. However, when I think of all those poor people your uncle defrauded...'

Chrissie didn't say anything. She already knew of her parents' decision to obtain via the solicitors acting for her deceased uncle a list of all her uncle's creditors so that these could be reimbursed—from her parents'

own pocket in all probability. Chrissie doubted that even after the sale of the house and paying off the mortgages on it there would be enough to pay his debts.

'So anyway,' her mother teased gently as Chrissie started to bring their conversation to a close, 'when are we going to meet your Guy?'

'Not yet,' Chrissie told her firmly. 'Not until you get back from your trip—I'll be thinking about you tomorrow when you fly out.' She was glad that her mother couldn't see her flushed face as she acknowledged that whilst it was natural and automatic for her to discuss her feelings for Guy with her mother, they were still too new, he was still too new in her life, for her to want to share him publicly with anyone else.

'A table for two... What happens if I say we don't have one?' Frances Sorter teased her brother.

She had been a little uncertain at first just how things would work out between her husband and her brother when Guy had first offered to help finance their restaurant business. Both of them were in their own quiet way rather dominant, the kind of males who were used to being in control and taking command. But as she acknowledged now, she needn't have worried.

The two men got along just fine and there was no doubt that Guy contributed some valuable input into the business and not just in terms of money or even the business he brought in. It had been Guy who had encouraged them to expand and extend the dining room when they had been a little wary of taking on the extra financial commitment, and Guy, too, who had backed his faith in them with the money to do so. And he had been right. The plain, old-fashioned but superbly cooked country food that her husband specialised in had very quickly met with local approval and they were already gaining an equally good reputation farther afield, as well.

Roy, her husband, insisted on using only top-quality ingredients, organically grown vegetables and livestock reared by traditional methods rather than factory farmed. His beefsteak pie had male customers salivating in anticipation and their wives complaining that they were tired of having their home cooking compared to its detriment with Roy's.

'Paul even told me that Roy's pastry was better than his mother's,' one wife had confided ruefully to Frances.

Both their sons were now at catering college and hopefully would eventually come into the business with them, while Miranda, their daughter, had set up her own ancillary sideline, catering for private dinner parties and the like and keeping to the family tradition of serving wholesome country food.

'Is it a business dinner?' Frances asked, pausing delicately.

Guy looked at her. 'No,' he told her quietly.

'No...? It's a woman,' Frances guessed.

'She's a woman,' Guy agreed, only just resisting the temptation to tell his sister she was
THE
woman.

However, he knew her too well and he knew also that once he had said that, every member of the Cooke clan would know by this time tomorrow what he had told her and he wasn't ready for that, not quite yet.

He wanted her to himself far too much right now to want to share her with anyone else, much less his inquisitive, gregarious and sociable family.

'Oh, I almost forgot to tell you,' Frances exclaimed.

'There's been another break-in—at The Limes this time. Apparently the police suspect that a professional gang's at work.'

Guy knew that his sister's husband's cousin was a police inspector based in Chester and so he listened frowningly as she provided him with details.

'The police suspect that the gang moves into an area and picks it clean before moving on. They're not going for the really valuable stuff—that's too heavily protected and alarmed—but apparently they do seem to know what they're looking for. Chester, of course, with all its antiques shops and its visitors is an ideal place for them to get rid of what they've stolen by offloading it to dealers before the police can circulate a description of what's gone.'

'Mmm. It's every dealer's nightmare,' Guy agreed,

'to find out that what you've bought in good faith turns out to be stolen property.'

'How are things going for the Antiques Fair?'

Frances asked him, changing the subject.

'Fine,' Guy responded, adding with a grin, 'Almost too well at the moment, in fact. So far, my major problem is finding enough space for everyone who wants to participate and I've actually had to turn down quite a few.'