Hidden Kiss (Love Is The Law 2) (9 page)

"I've not packed. I didn't expect…"

"We've got time. Off you go."

"I…" Emily laughed at him. "Well, okay. Where
are we going?"

"Surprise!"

"I need to know." She folded her arms defiantly.
"So I know what to pack." She put on a fake southern accent. "One
wouldn't wear a track suit to dinner with the Queen, you know. Simply wouldn't
do."

"The Queen? Your hopes run a bit high. Sorry. Um, a
track suit will be a better option."

"Really? Are we going running or something?"

"Ahh, no. But yes. Seriously. Look, um, dress warmly.
Lots of layers. And a very basic overnight bag."

Understanding began to stroke its cold fingers down Emily's
back. She remembered what he used to dream about doing, when he was in prison.
His escape. His fantasy.

"We're going camping, aren't we?" she said flatly.

"Yeah!" He grinned again, looking like a happy
puppy. "I'm going to take you to the place I love best. Up on
Yorkshire."

"I thought you loved the Peaks. That's where we went
before."

"We weren't camping. This is something else. Limestone
pavements!" His face became more serious. "I've never shared this place
with anyone before."

Emily forced a smile onto her face. "Okay. Give me ten
minutes." She disappeared into the bedroom and tried to convince herself
it was going to be fun.

* * * *

This might be all right.
Emily muffled herself up in
lots of clothes, scraped back her hair into an inelegant ponytail, and followed
Turner down the stairs and out into the car park.
I'm game for new things.
It's a bit bloody cold, but hey. We're together.

His excitement was infectious, that was for sure.

He bounded over to his Range Rover and she peeked in through
the back window. It was stuffed with gear. "I hope most of that stuff is
sleeping bags and duvets," she told him.

"Oh, I've got ways of keeping you warm."

"I hope so."

He sprung the locks and they hopped in. "Hey,"
Turner said as they swung around and began to move out of the car park.
"Where's your car? I know it's small but it can't be hiding behind a stone
or something."

"Ahh, no. It's in the garage," she lied, and
instantly regretted it. Once told, it could not be untold. What would she say
next week, when the repossessed vehicle failed to rematerialize from the
garage?

"Right, let's hit the road!" They pulled onto a
dual carriageway and began to head north.

* * * *

Being a passenger in a car was relaxing, and Emily stretched
out in the seat, letting the humming motion ease away her troubles. It wasn't
hard to leave it all behind her in Manchester.

"Leg room," Turner said, shooting a glance
sideways. "Under rated, yes?"

She knew he was referring to her tiny car. Well, her ex-car.
She stuck her tongue out at him rather than say anything else that would end up
being a lie.

"Look," he said as they flashed along the
motorway. "I know you probably think this is going to be awful. And if you
really, really hate it tonight, we'll come home. But give it a chance."

"I will, don't worry. Sorry about my reaction earlier.
I'd been soaking in the bath and I didn't really expect this, that's all. But
I'm kinda looking forward to it."

"Really?"

"Well. I'm looking forward to spending time with
you."

"That's what's so great about you, Emily. You're up for
anything. A lot of women would have had a hissy fit at me about this, but I
really want to share it with you."

"I know."

They lapsed into comfortable silence as he turned off the
main arterial road and began a slower journey through Yorkshire towns, and then
onto the dark roads of the villages and hamlets. Emily stared into brightly-lit
living rooms and bedrooms as they went past, little jewelled snapshots of other
people's lives.

"Hey, are you all right?" Turner asked, his voice
low in the darkened car.

"Yeah." She turned back to face him. "I just
like being nosey, that's all. I'm looking into people's houses."

He laughed. "You'd make a good burglar. We're nearly
there. We'll drop the car in the forestry commission car park and hike up to
the best camping spot ever."

"Is it a public camp site?"

"No. But wild camping can be okay, if you arrive after dark
and pack up before dawn, and leave no trace."

"Is it legal?"

"We'll not go to prison."

"That's not exactly an answer."

"It's not exactly a crime…"

"Hmm." But she wasn't worried, and she felt a
flutter of excitement building as they unloaded the car in the deserted car
park. Turner had come prepared with a ruck sack for her, and soon they were
like two shadowy turtles, picking their way carefully along a path that shone
whitely as it curled out of the car park and up the looming dark hill.

The moon was half full and illuminated the limestone path,
the pale rocks almost glowing in the night. After a while the path narrowed and
then disappeared, but Turner had a head torch for each of them, and they moved
on, slowly.

"This is weird," she said very quietly.

"Why are you whispering?"

"I don't know. Because it's dark?"

Turner laughed quietly. "Okay. So what's weird?"

"Um, the dark. It's so… don't laugh! It's so big."

He did laugh, but he agreed. "I know what you mean.
Okay. We're nearly there."

They came out into a hollow, with steep sides on three
edges. The fourth was more like a ledge. It wasn't high and the drop wasn't
steep but they had a good view of the twinkling lights of civilisation. Little
pockets of yellow and orange scattered over the valley and hills beyond.

"It faces south all day so it always seems warmer here.
Come on, if you can hold your torch pointed at me, I'll get the tent up."

He was practised and it didn't take long. Emily quite
enjoyed watching his solid form move so confidently in the dark. He seemed
bigger in the shadows and she admired the way he moved, smooth and powerful.

"How are you doing?" he asked as he shoved the
final tent peg in, grunting as he bent and pushed. "Warm enough?"

Emily was fantasising about how broad his shoulders were and
how much effort he was putting in. "Ahh yes, quite warm, thank you."

He stood up and moved up close to her. In the dark, her
other senses were heightened. She could smell his fresh, clean outdoorsy smell,
with still a lingering hint of spice, probably from his shower gel or
aftershave. His breathing was soft and deep. She raised her hands to his face,
stroking along the smooth sides of his chin and cheek.

"I'm so glad you're out here with me, Emily," he
whispered.

"I'm glad you asked me."

"You make me feel… fuzzy."

That was unexpected, and made her laugh. "Sorry,"
she apologised, biting back her giggles. "Fuzzy? Like cheap cider?"

"Warm and fuzzy. I want to look after you. Show you the
world. Hell, I want to
give
you the world."

"I don't want the world." She pressed harder
against his body, letting her hands drop from his cheeks to his neck and
shoulders. "I want you."

He kissed her as she pulled his head down towards her own,
and she was crushed against him by his arms. It was a kiss that stretched out
time, merging moment into moment as their skin touched, passionate and hungry.
She only pulled back when the crick in her neck was too painful to ignore.
"I want you," she repeated. "But… I also want a drink. What did
you bring?"

He slapped her buttocks lightly. "Cheeky mare. Okay, we
have red wine or white."

"Good god, a selection?"

"Well, a rather limited selection. I mean, I'm not
about to offer you a range of cocktails and ciders of the world, spirits and
mixers. Bowls of olives. None of that shit."

"Oh, well in the absence of gin and tonic, I'll have to
slum it with red wine, then."

"Coming right up."

They sat in the tent's entrance and Turner set about laying
out a feast of a cold picnic.

"I would never eat this kind of stuff at home."
Emily waved a pork pie in the air.

"I know," he agreed. "Everyone knows it
should be white wine with pork pies, not red."

The red wine was soon finished, regardless of whether it was
the correct thing to drink with pastry products, crisps and nuts, and cakes
from the supermarket. Emily's head was becoming pleasantly muzzy, and although
her toes and fingers were tingling with the cold, the alcohol helped her to
ignore it.

Turner's arm crept around her shoulders and she leaned in to
him. His thumb rubbed the top of her arm, rhythmic and reassuring. He pushed
his face against her hair and inhaled.

"This is perfect," he muttered.

Emily drew up her knees and shifted on the hard, stony
ground. It wasn't perfect. She'd still rather have been with him somewhere else
- anywhere else - if that place was warm and soft and comfortable. But she knew
he had a need to show her something that was special to him, so she managed to
bite back her sarcasm, even though the wine was threatening to loosen her
tongue.

"I'm a bit chilly."

"I am sure I can warm you up."

"Out here?"

"Why not."

"Well, bugs and cold air and passing sheep and, um,
more bugs. That's why not."

"Perhaps I can tempt you into my humble abode."
Turner reached behind, twisting at the waist, and unzipped the tent with a
flourish. The air mattresses were pumped up, and the thick down sleeping bag
already spread open. "Do come inside, madam."

His elegant words were marred somewhat by the undignified
wriggling they had to perform, until they were both safely ensconced in the
tent, almost sitting on top of one another. Even moving just slightly forced
their bodies against each other. The inside was illuminated by a head torch
dangling from the centre of the roof of the tent, and Turner kept knocking his
forehead against it.

"It's trying to tell me something," he said in
fake irritation.

"What, that your head's too big?"

"No. That I need to go…lower." He grabbed Emily's
waist and pulled her down to the mattress with him, and she wriggled as the
airbed shifted and rocked unpredictably.

"God, it's going to make me sea sick," she
complained.

"Let's ride the waves."

"What's with the corny lines?"

"Sorry. Too much wine, good company, and a sexy
lady."

He kissed her again and she kept hold of him, as the wine
coursed through her veins and shed the last of any doubts and inhibitions she
had about what they were about to do. At first she'd thought it would be too
cold to strip off fully naked but it was amazing what a bit of heavy petting
could do to the system, and soon they were both nestled in a heap of discarded
clothing.

They were almost fighting, worming on top of each other and
then underneath, tumbling in a shadowy, sweaty, drunken mess of frantic sex. Emily
let herself go. It was easier out here, in the wilderness and the near-dark.
His mouth explored her, all of her, though it involved some contortions and
yoga-like positions as he kissed his way right down to her toes, making her
squeal and nearly kick him as he tickled her. Then he worked his way back up,
pressing his solid body against hers, and she felt herself begin to melt.

"You're wild tonight," he growled.

"Too much wine," she fired back at him, clawing at
his neck to drag him down to her breasts.

He responded willingly and she wrapped her legs around his thighs,
as her urgency built.

When he entered her she almost came right away, with the
relief and the release of it all, but she held it back as best she could. The
uncertain movements of the airbed didn't matter at all as he built up his pace
and when he shouted and grunted, she was not far behind, feeling waves of
tension flood out of her as her body jerked and her muscles rippled.

She couldn't think; didn't think. Turner collapsed on top of
her, rolling to one side slightly and dragging her against him to keep her warm
as the sweat cooled on her skin. She nuzzled up against him, feeling so totally
safe and cocooned. He stroked her hair and she murmured as she felt sleep creep
up to her.

After a while, she was half-aware of Turner pushing the
clothes aside and pulling the sleeping bag up around them. She reached for him
again, pulling him back to her, and he folded his body protectively against her
back.

Soon they were both asleep.

Polly was wrapped in so many scarves that her neck had entirely
disappeared and she looked like her face was tiny atop so many multi-coloured
layers. Her dreads were piled under a cable-knit woolly hat and she jumped from
one foot to the other constantly, trying to keep warm.

"It's May, for god's sake. I mean… May! I can't believe
you went camping in this."

"It wasn't this cold," Emily said. She, too, was
huddled in warm clothing as they stood by the folding table, dishing out hot
pies and drinks to the line of homeless folk.

"Two nights!"

"Yeah, well, that second night was a mistake. I spent
all day today in a hot bath, trying to thaw out, and get rid of the knots in my
muscles. Air beds are not comfortable."

"It was good of you to come out then, tonight, after
all that. Thanks, pet."

"It's all right."

Emily and Turner had enjoyed a great pub lunch on Sunday and
then he'd dropped her home. She'd been in the bath nearly an hour, with two
top-ups of warm water, when Polly had rung asking for a huge favour. The
weather forecast was for a cold snap, and she knew they'd extra help on the
soup kitchen run.

Emily was more than happy to help out. It was a surprise to
her that soup kitchens didn't actually serve soup. It would have been a lot
easier. Instead, they gave out hearty pies with mushy peas, sponge puddings,
custard and lots of coffee.