The Perfect Match (6 page)

'A bit different from the first one you organised three years ago,' his sister reminded him. 'Then, you were virtually having to plead with people to come.'

'Don't remind me,' Guy told her wryly.

'You still made a success of it, though,' she pointed out. 'And a good profit, plus what was donated to local charities. Will you be doing that again this year?'

'Oh yes, I don't think that either Jenny or Ruth would let me get away with not doing.'

Frances laughed. 'Ruth (Brighton's homes for single

' mothers is a very worthwhile cause,' she pointed out to her brother, 'and because it's small and local I think that people do feel more inclined to want to help. Ruth was telling me the last time she and Grant were here that they're actually starting to train their own coun-sellors and planning to provide an after-care service for their mothers and babies.'

'Tell me about it,' Guy groaned. 'It's begun to take over so much of Jenny's time that I've got a feeling it won't be long before she decides to give up her share of the business.'

Frances gave him a sharp look. Guy and Jenny Crighton had been in business together for many years now, although she knew that for Jenny the antiques shop they both ran had never been more than a part-time sideline. She had occasionally wondered over the years about the exact nature of the relationship between her brother and Jenny, for although it was obvious that Jenny was devoted to her husband, Jon Crighton, the senior partner in the family's local legal practice, it was also obvious, to Frances at least, that Guy was extremely fond of and protective towards his business partner. Now though, totally unexpectedly it seemed, there was a new woman in Guy's life.

Frances was no fool. She was well aware that her brother had not exactly lived the life of a monk and that in his twenties in particular he had dated a string of stunningly attractive young women. But he was close to forty now and so far as she knew, there had been no one special in his life for quite some time.

So who was this new woman and where had Guy met her? she wondered curiously. She would have to make some enquiries via the family grapevine, she decided vigorously, whilst giving her brother a dulcetly innocent smile.

C H A P T E R F O U R

CHRISSIE had just stepped out of the bath when she heard someone knock on the door. Pulling on her tow-elling robe, she hurried downstairs and then paused warily before checking the safety catch and opening the door, her small frown of uncertainty dissolving in the heat of her delighted smile as she saw Guy standing on the doorstep, his arms full of flowers.

'You said we should meet at the restaurant,' she reminded him huskily after she had let him in and laughingly admonished him for the extravagance of the enormous armful of flowers he had given her.

'I know,' he agreed tenderly, giving her a look that made her toes curl and her body go hot.

'You said that if we didn't, that you...that we...'

she began as she took the flowers into the kitchen where they totally filled the small sink.

'I know
exactly
what I said and why,' Guy asserted.

As Chrissie turned round, he caught her in his arms and added gruffly, 'And I was right, too. God, I've missed you.'

'You can't have,' Chrissie protested shakily. 'It's only been a few hours and—'

'A few hours, a few minutes, it doesn't matter how long it is...any amount of time spent away from you is too long,' Guy interrupted her passionately.

It must be because she hadn't had anything to eat since this morning that she felt so light-headed and dizzy, Chrissie told herself. Either that or...

'We'll be late for dinner,' she warned Guy as he started to kiss her, unfastening her robe so that he could slide his hands inside it and slowly caress her naked and still-damp body.

'Do you care?' he asked her throatily.

Chrissie shook her head.

This time, because she knew what to expect, she somehow assumed that her response would be less intense, the emotion between them not quite as magi-cal, but she quickly discovered she was wrong. If anything, their response to one another, their need for one another, was even more total and overwhelming than it had been before, their bodies moving in perfect harmony with one another.

'I've never known anything like this,' Guy whispered rawly to her as he held her in the aftermath of their loving.

'Neither have I,' Chrissie agreed. 'It...it frightens me a little bit,' she told him quietly. 'It's almost...too perfect....'

Too perfect!' Guy laughed. 'How
can
it be?' he teased her.

Chrissie laughed as well, her laughter turning to a wide-eyed look of shaken passion as Guy started to make love to her again, bending his head to gently kiss and then caress the naked tip of her breast, slowly and delicately drawing the sensitive, responsive flesh into his mouth whilst Chrissie gasped in helpless pleasure, reaching out for him, clinging to him as she felt herself start to be caught up in the powerful un-dertow of the desire he was arousing within her.

'I'm never going to want to let you go now, you know that, don't you?' Guy told her tenderly after they had made love.

'I don't think I'm ever going to want you to let go,'

Chrissie admitted honestly, closing her eyes, caught halfway between tears and laughter as her emotions overwhelmed her. 'I still can't quite believe that all this is happening,' she added. 'I only came to Haslewich to sort out my...things here.'

'You came because fate had already decreed that we should meet,' Guy corrected her softly.

'I...I wouldn't even
be
here if I wasn't represent-ing...' Her voice tailed off. Despite what her mother had said to her, she knew she had to tell him the truth and explain exactly who she was.

But Guy had other things on his mind and Chrissie abandoned any attempt to talk to him as he started to kiss her—again!

'You're late and you're lucky we kept you a table,'

his sister told Guy severely over two hours later when they finally made it to the restaurant.

Standing at his side, Chrissie was blushingly conscious of just how she must look and of just how many of the subtle and not-so-subtle signs of
how
they had spent the past few hours must be clearly evident.

No amount of make-up could possibly cover the tell-tale glow warming her skin or the softness of her eyes, the bee-stung, kiss-swollen shape of her mouth, the sensual languor that still possessed her body. And she was conscious, too, of the discreet but very thorough inspection Guy's sister was giving her.

Like him, she, too, was dark-haired with arresting good looks. He had told Chrissie earlier when she had been unable to stop herself commenting with female appreciation on the powerful shape of his body and the dark golden warmth of his skin that he owed his physical appearance to the genes he had inherited from his Gypsy ancestor.

'Theirs was a relationship that caused quite a scan-dal at the time,' he had explained wryly and told her the story of how he came to have Gypsy blood in his veins and how, even now, as a family they were not always totally accepted by everyone locally.

'People in small towns have long memories and there was a time centuries ago when the description

"gypsy" was synonymous with the word " t h i e f ' , at least in some people's eyes. I want you to know exactly what you're getting,' he had added, watching her. 'Good
and
bad, because, make no mistake, my love, I mean to be a permanent part of your life, a
very
permanent part of your life.'

Chrissie had been too overwhelmed with emotion to make any coherent response or to tell him about her own family.

'He's definitely in love with her,' Frances exclaimed positively to her husband once she had shown them to their table and returned to the kitchen. 'You can tell just by the way he looks at her.'

'Of course you can,' her husband scoffed. 'Fran, Guy is damn near forty and to the best of my knowledge he's had any number of women running after him, yes and he's let a good few of them catch him as well and...'

'This is different,' his wife interrupted him firmly, tutting in disgust at his male lack of perception. She glanced at her watch and wondered if there was time to make a few phone calls. The rest of the family were going to be interested in what she had to tell them.

'You're going to have to stop looking at me like that or we'll have to leave,' Guy warned her.

'Looking at you like what?' Chrissie asked.

But of course she knew. It made her feel giddy, light-headed, light-years away from her real self, to know that she could barely take her gaze away from his mouth, his body...his... Her
real
self?

'Stop it,' she begged him huskily when he returned her look with an open sensuality that made her whole body go hot. 'We've got to be sensible,' she told him.

'We—'

'Sensible?' he queried ruefully. 'That's the last thing I feel like being, but I suppose you have a point.

I don't even know how long you're going to be here or—'

'I don't know myself yet,' Chrissie told him. 'I've got an appointment with Jon Crighton tomorrow.'

'Jenny's husband,' he interjected, adding, 'Jenny Crighton is my partner in the antiques shop.'

Chrissie frowned. Something about the way he said the other woman's name and the way he looked struck a disconcerting warning note.

'Presumably you're acting for the Platt family. It's hardly surprising that they didn't want to deal with things personally.'

'They can hardly be blamed for what...for what Charles did,' Chrissie protested defensively.

'No, but this is a small town and people have long memories and narrow minds, as my family has good cause to know. Charlie treated a lot of people very badly and rightly or wrongly anyone turning up here now and claiming to be related to him is bound to be treated with suspicion.'

'Is that what you would do?' Chrissie asked him a little stiffly.

Guy smiled at her as he reached across the table to take hold of her hand and shrugged. 'Does it matter?

If I'm honest, I don't suppose I would be inclined to look charitably on another member of the Platt family, but right now neither Charlie Platt nor anyone else is of the remotest interest to me. In fact, right now, there is only one person on my mind....' He smiled into her eyes tenderly. 'Right now, the only person I want to think about or talk about is you....'

'There isn't anything to tell,' Chrissie fibbed uncomfortably. How
could
she tell him who she was after what he had just said? 'I'm here to represent the Platt family and I've got to see his solicitors and get the house put up for sale.'

'Well, Jon Crighton will help you do all that. His family have been the town's solicitors for heaven knows how many years now. In fact, the original Crighton connection with the law goes back even beyond that, to Chester, where Jon's ancestor actually came from.

'There are still Crightons practising as barristers and solicitors in Chester. And Jon and Jenny's elder son, Max, is presently a practising barrister in London. They're quite an extended clan, not quite so extensive as the Cookes, of course, but then, we have the advantage of our extremely prolific Gypsy genes to thank or blame for our colonisation of the town.'

Prolific! How prolific? Chrissie wondered uneasily, suddenly acutely conscious of something she had neglected to discuss with Guy in the fierce immediacy of their need for one another. Something she was now shamefully aware she
should
have mentioned, checked...insisted upon, out of practical considera-tions and health-conscious maturity, if nothing else.

But she had been too overwhelmed, too hungry for the feel of Guy inside her to spare a thought for something so practical, and Guy, she suspected, must have felt exactly the same.

'Is something wrong?' she heard him asking her quietly.

Quickly she shook her head. The contraceptive pills she had been prescribed to regulate her monthly cycle would normally have protected her, but she was guilti-ly aware that her most recent prescription was still unfilled in her purse and she had taken her last pill a few days ago. First thing in the morning, she would make sure she went to the chemist's, she promised herself.

'Er...no...nothing,' she assured him, too distracted by the realisation that his sister was walking towards them to tell him what was bothering her.

'Is everything all right?' Frances asked Guy wryly, as she surveyed their barely touched, and now cold, food.

'Fine, but neither of us had much of an appetite,'

Guy replied.

'Not for food,' Chrissie thought she heard the other woman murmur wryly as she gestured to a waitress to collect their plates.

'What time are you due to see Jon tomorrow?' Guy asked as soon as his sister had gone. 'Only I'm due to visit Lord Astlegh's estate manager in the morning to check over things for the Antiques Fair I'm organising there and I wondered if you'd like to come with me. It's quite an interesting house with some spectacular gardens.'

'I'd love to,' Chrissie told him warmly. 'My appointment isn't actually until three...'

'Wonderful, we can have lunch together, somewhere a little more private,' he added ruefully.

His sister had sharper eyes than he had given her credit for, he acknowledged inwardly, and she had certainly guessed exactly how he felt about Chrissie.

He suspected she would lose no time in passing her discovery on to the rest of their family.

'If you don't want anything else we could leave and have coffee somewhere a little quieter...'

Chrissie looked at him knowing that everything she was feeling was in her eyes. 'Yes... I'd like that,' she told him a little breathlessly.

She wasn't totally surprised when she discovered that he was taking her to his home, but her heart was thumping heavily when he guided her up the narrow pathway to the immaculately painted front door of the handsome, brick-built, three-storey terraced house with its Georgian facade.

They entered a narrow but high-ceilinged hallway off which Guy opened a door, flicking on the lights to illuminate an elegantly furnished sitting room carpeted in a neutral sisal matting that showed off perfectly the room's antiques and at the same time blended with the two large, squashy, creamy damask-covered sofas that faced one another across the fire-place.