Encounter with a Commanding Officer

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘WHERE ARE WE GOING?’ Fliss cried as he clasped her hand, holding her tightly as he weaved his way through the crowds, the music and dancing starting up once again to their left as they were jostled and bumped by revellers.

Holding on as though he never wanted to let her go, Ash maintained the pace and, although she was initially reluctant, Fliss discovered the further they got from the restaurant, the more she felt as though she was leaving the conversation—and her past—behind.

The only time Ash stopped was when they passed a street vendor selling popcorn. He halted abruptly but, instead of buying a cone of hot buttered puffs, he asked for a small bag of kernels.

‘What are they for?’ she asked curiously.

Dropping them inside his shirt pocket, he patted the outside, his expression giving nothing away.

‘Secret.’

And then, before she had a chance to say anything more, he set off again, her hand still tightly in his, and resumed their determined pace. By the time he pulled them both left into a side street that was decidedly less packed than the main route, Fliss had forgotten her earlier unease and felt a renewed sense of adventure. She marvelled at the effect. How easy Ash made it for her.

‘According to our server, there’s a path up the hillside here which offers a view out over the town. Apparently it’s well worth a look.’

‘I never even heard you ask.’

He shot her an indulgent smile which lifted her spirits even further.

‘That’s because you were too entranced by the floats. So, are you up for it?’

She glanced up at the cobbled path, infrequent lanterns offering pinpoints of light, lending it an almost romantic air.

‘Sure, why not?’

As they headed along the narrowing streets, she couldn’t suppress the rush of pleasure that, even though they were no longer pushing through crowds, he still enveloped her hand in his as though he wasn’t ready to let her go.

As they left the last of the bars and restaurants, souvenir shops and revellers behind, the night closed around them like their own personal cloak. The path climbed steadily, a stone wall protecting them from the ever-increasing drop on one side whilst higgledy-piggledy stone buildings lined the other.

As the space between the festival lanterns stretched longer and longer, they began to pass the occasional couple, kissing passionately as they leaned on the wall or up against the buildings, cocooned in their own little world and oblivious to Ash and Fliss approaching. Yet another reminder of a typical carefree youth which Fliss had never allowed herself to experience.

Partly because she was afraid of becoming her mother and having a baby, only to make the child’s life the same misery Fliss herself had endured. But also partly, Fliss was loathed to admit, because she was so prickly that no boy had ever wanted her enough—or, at least, made her feel wanted enough—to let go of her tightly held reins to try.

‘This must be it.’ Ash broke into her musings. ‘So, what do you make of it?’

Peering around his shoulder as they turned to their left, Fliss took in the view and gasped.

The town beneath them seemed to be dotted by a thousand pretty fairy lights, the floats strategically sited around the streets for festival-goers to enjoy. It was prettier than she could have imagined. She moved to the parapet and stood transfixed, unable to articulate how she felt.

‘You seem tense. It was all those couples kissing, wasn’t it?’ he asked, coming to stand next to her but deliberately giving her a little space.

She turned to look at him, confused.

‘I’m not uncomfortable. If anything, I confess I might have felt a little...envious. Fusty Fliss, too uptight for anything like that.’

She snapped her mouth shut, wishing she hadn’t said that. She certainly wasn’t about to tell him where it had come from.

‘Fusty? Is that so?’ Ash muttered, angling his body so he was now facing her, looking straight into her eyes as though he could see every last worry etched in her face. ‘Only I don’t think that’s entirely true.’

Ash lifted his hands to her shoulders, compelling her to turn her body, only to pull it against his, unbelievably hard and unyielding. Her insides turned to molten liquid.

She wanted him with

an ache so fierce it should have frightened her.

He dipped his head to skim her lips with his own. He drew a lazy line across her bottom lip with his tongue. He slid his tongue in just enough to tease her. And all the while she could only cling to him, unable to tell whether he was the one thing stopping her from going under or the one thing pulling her beneath the sensual waves. Finally, Ash lifted her arms to hook them around his neck, allowing him greater access to the rest of her body, and she didn’t stop him. She couldn’t.