When Molly had got to check in desk 35, the Boss – who'd remained teasingly tight-lipped since their conversation – casually extracted, from an expensive looking brown leather wallet, two first class boarding cards for somewhere called CUN. So while he was lifting her scruffy Bergin onto the scales with his polished leather holdall she dashed to the loo with her phone to frantically google where the hell CUN was.

It turned out CUN was the code for somewhere called Cancun. 'If only, if only, I'd not played away from school so much, I might have learnt some Geography!' Molly thought as she waited for pages to load. "Then I'd not look like a idiot in front of someone I fancy!"

Mexico!

Thank God she'd watched the Book of Life cartoon with her sister on her last leave. That was about Mexico wasn't it? But what was it all about? The Day of the… fucking something… the Dead! She could show him she knew all about that, she thought, suddenly energised. Perhaps that was what they were going to see! Molly got all excited until she googled the date of the Day of the Dead festival and discovered that it wasn't until October!

Bloody typical!

Defeated, she pushed her phone in her pocket, and returned to the Boss.

"I'm stoked we're going to Mexico," she blagged brightly, trying to hide her ignorance. "I really love…"

He saw through her bullshit immediately and cut her off: "Have you been to Mexico before Dawes?"

She nodded enthusiastically, then looked him in the eye and realised it wasn't going to fly. "Not ye..." she faltered.

"No," he concluded with amusement.

There was a moment of embarrassed silence.

Then he smiled: "I hoped you hadn't! I wanted it to be a surprise for both of us! I haven't been either!"

He saw her sigh of relief and pulled a thick book from his hand luggage - a posh brown leather satchel with its own leather label - she noticed with some embarrassment, frantically nudging her own hand luggage – a fraying, faded-purple Fitness First rucksack, her name labelled on the inside flap with a Sharpie – out of his sight.

"Don't worry," he reassured her. "We've got an eleven hour flight and here's our reading material for the journey." He showed her The Rough Guide to Mexico.

Honest! Flying in a first class seat was so mint, Molly thought, that she didn't have much time for that thick book. Of course, they watched different films! Charles chose something called The Theory of Everything, which looked like a snobby, old-fashioned story about a scientist and she started with Brooklyn, quickly got bored and then found Amy, which was both amazing and disturbing. Then she slept for a while. When she woke up, Charles was listening to music with his eyes closed. Surreptitiously she tuned into the same channel and listened to something posh called Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp. She smiled remembering the reception their music teacher had got when he'd tried to get them to listen to classical music at school. Poor geezer. She listened a bit more. It sounded all right actually.

When they arrived in Cancun they went by taxi straight to the hotel the Boss had booked, a strange, compelling tree house in a small resort wedged up high in jungle trees overlooking a sheltered bay of pure aquamarine, fringed by a beach of soft, golden sand.

It was like all those grand pictures in the magazines that you flicked through waiting at the doctors, trying not to look too much, knowing for sure you'd never be able to cough up for, realised Molly.

They had arrived just before sunset and even though she felt hot and fatigued by the long flight and unnerved by being up so high, their surroundings were magical. As they made their way up the rope ladder entrance to their tree house, they were accompanied by hundreds of birds twittering from the surrounding trees.

"Blimey Boss!"

They stared round at their room in wonder, taking in the driftwood and bamboo openwork walls, the huge platform bed veiled by clouds of mosquito net, the strangely sloping floors and round windows.

"Christ! That tub's so big you could fit all the lads from two section in it," gasped Molly.

"Although I dunno anyone who'd share a bath with those bell-sniffers," she added.

"It's extraordinary, modelled on the Guggenheim," he noted, sweeping an assessing arm around the walls.

"The Gug…?" Molly couldn't even get it out. "The what?" She felt slightly miffed. She wished he didn't make her feel so stupid with all his know-it-all culture… shite.

"The Guggenheim Museum of Art in New York," he answered casually as he unbuttoned his shirt. "It's an iconic circular building and famous, architecturally. Have you ever been?"

Molly laughed lightly. Sometimes The Bossman could be a total chapstick! Didn't he know how brassic she was?

"Well… I don't care about the… Glug…whatevs… that fancy place in New York, this place is the dog's bollocks."

"Come out here," he called from the balcony. "The view's exceptional."

He obviously hadn't heard her. Feeling a bit light-headed about what this must have cost, Molly walked out onto the balcony, knocking into a giant swing suspended from an overhead branch, but she couldn't see him in the fading light. "Where are you?"

"Over here," he called. He held a hand out and in the dimness of the evening Molly could see him sitting seemingly in the air, branches sweeping below him.

"What? What the fuck are you sitting on Boss? Is that safe?"

"It's fine. It's a big cargo net spread across several trees so that you can lie on it. Come on over," he added, waving a long arm in her direction.

"Sod off! I'm way too scared of heights to go on that ropey thing."

"Dawes!" he exclaimed with amused frustration. "You're in the army! How can you be afraid of heights?"

"Oh mate," she joked, to cover her fear: "Very easily. And besides, I've never been called on to triage someone up a bloody tree."

"Come on. It's completely safe. It's unusual and fun!" He stood up on the net, long legs parted, balancing carefully. "Trust me."

She saw the net bounce slightly under his weight and felt the fear tingling through her fingers.

"Trust you?" she shouted back, trying to change the subject. "My Nan taught me never to trust people like you!"

"Trust you?" She repeated with joyful sarcasm. "Yeah right!"

He brushed her plucky reply away with an arm, and held a confident hand out to encourage her: "Come on Dawes. Test it out. I'll make sure you're safe."

She waved away his hand and tested a foot on the net. It didn't give. She stepped further so both her feet were on it. It bounced slightly and the trembling fear of falling trickled right down to her toes.

"Don't look down!"

Suddenly she realised how amazing it was to be up in the air like this. Sod her fear! This was un-fucking-believable! Determined not to let the dread overwhelm her, she let out a yell and ran forward, tumbling into the middle of the net, laughing with adrenalin and pure relief.

Charles looked amused. He sat down next to her. "What happened to that fear of heights? You don't even seem scared!"

"I'm bleeding petrified Boss, but this is too AMAZING to miss!" She looked around her in wonder and lay down on the net to peer through the holes at the darkened forest falling away beneath them. "Bloody hell, I never even thought a place like this could ever exist."

He lay down next to her looking up into the branches above. The elation in her voice was somehow intoxicating. "This is why I love being with you Molly. You always surprise me!" He leaned forward and kissed her in delight, a fleeting moment of intense, pure pleasure.

The kiss caught her by surprise and silenced them.

This was the unsettling thing about pretending not to be together. They'd spent the last few months steering clear of each other, acting like professional colleagues, putting up walls and avoiding any kind of intimacy. And distancing themselves like that was difficult to shake off. Ever since they'd met at Heathrow, they'd remained like that, barely able to touch each other.

Twisted by conflicting emotions, Molly looked around for a diversion: "Look over there, the moon's coming up." She pointed towards a gap in the high branches and they turned to gaze as the huge silver moon soared over the deep blue water.

There was something so completely natural and wholly timeless about the experience that they lay for ages in silent awe, shaking the metaphorical Afghan dust off the last few months of their tours, gravitating away from the systemic impersonality of army life and journeying, albeit tentatively, towards each other.

Eventually Charles rolled over, a provocative gleam in his eyes. "So Molly, what was it your Nan taught you about people like me?"

Molly sat up, prepared for the bouncing of the net. "That's between me and my Nan," she teased. "She told me never to tell!"

"Secrets?" he challenged, grinning in the dark. Then suddenly he stood up on the net and reached teasingly towards her: "It's a bit late for that now, isn't it Molly?"

"Never!" she joked, crawling on hands and knees across the bouncing net as fast as she could to the tree platform balcony.

"My lips are sealed," she shot back, taunting him from the door of their bedroom.

He darted straight after her, catching her from behind as she scampered towards the other side of the bed. Squealing playfully, she fought back, but within seconds they had both tumbled onto the bed and he was thoroughly kissing her with the desperate intensity of someone who had waited too long.

"Hello stranger," she breathed. "I feel like I need to know you again… Captain James… Bossman… Charles." She touched the tips of her fingers to his in a delighted awe.

It was an echo of that tense moment they'd discovered feelings for each other in the medical tent at the FOB; a recapitulation.

He threaded his fingers through hers and his eyes blazed as the memory trickled back between them.

"Private Dawes," he whispered. "Molly…" He dropped a brief kiss on the underside of her forearm. The imprint of his lips on her soft skin sent darts of pleasure spiralling down to her toes. "After months in Bastion, it's beautiful to be able hold you like this."

"I don't know how I've been able to hold out so long," she answered, jokingly.

Almost immediately she regretted breaking the tender moment, but his eyes seem to brighten in response to her impulsive frivolity.

"Really, Dawes? So long? I think your Nan would have expected you to hold out for longer," he joked softly, touching a finger to the centre of her parted lips. "Lips sealed, huh?" He leaned down and kissed her open mouthed. "She wouldn't be impressed."

"Oh, you're… wrong," Molly found the desire coiling through her midriff so distracting she could barely speak. She looked him straight in the eye. "I think she would think you were a 'good'n'."

"A good'n'? What's that?" Charles rolled over and propped his head up on his arm. He didn't seem to need an answer. Molly watched as he became distracted by the red lace trim of her bra peeking scantily out from under her shirt.

"Red lace. Hmm… Do you wear this under your uniform in Afghan?" he murmured as he casually unbuttoned her shirt to expose more.

"Possibly." She almost shivered as his hands brushed her cleavage. "Sometimes, I guess."

"Well," he laughed ruefully. "This is the end. I'll have to persuade some Duffer to send you back to Purbright. It's been torturous watching your smart little backside march round Bastion and wanting you, but how am I going to survive after this, knowing you're wearing this frankly sexy red underwear?" He sighed exaggeratedly. "You'll have to go."

"Really?" For a shit second Molly thought he was for real. Then he gave her a devastating smile and she realised he was joking. Christ, you couldn't tell with some men!

She feigned outrage: "You've been watching me march round Bastion and wondering what undies I've been wearing under my…"

"Of course I haven't…" he rushed indignantly. I'm far too busy with my section. Maybe once…" he admitted.

"Only once?" she complained.

Well, twice then…"

She pretended to be gutted.

"Bloody hell Molly," he started laughing. "I can tell you're delighted! Just… put me out of my misery, stop teasing and… show me!" he added, urgently.

"Now?" she replied, her mind distracted by a trembling that had started up somewhere around her belly.

"Yes… Now!" There was an intensity to his tone as he sat up to watch her.

She stood up and started unbuttoning her jeans, suddenly aware of his dark eyes watching her intensely from the bed.

It was a long time since they'd been together like this and she felt unsure. She half turned her back to him, coyly sliding the jeans slowly down her legs, revealing matching red lace briefs.

"Dawes!" she heard him whisper from the bed. "They're much sexier than I imagined!"

Self-consciously Molly giggled and stepped out of her jeans, preparing to turn around.

But Charles reached her first. He ran his long fingers up and down her arms from behind and lifted up her long dark hair to drop a tender kiss into the hollow of her neck: "I've waited weeks… months for this," he murmured softly into her ear.

At the touch of his lips a faint glow re-awoke and flickered from somewhere within Molly. It pulsed through her insides and she instinctively curved her body backwards, stretching towards him, aching for more.

"You're not the only one," she told him as she felt the tough muscles of his stomach ripple against her elbow. "It's been four, long months."

"Well, we've got eight days to make up for it," he answered, wrapping a strong arm around her body, and placing his knee gently between her legs.

His hand strayed down to stroke a thumb over her red lace briefs and then in a breathless, flaming second, she felt a long finger drift disturbingly underneath them.

"Captain James!" Molly teased provocatively, feigning shock.

"And I want you to know, Private Dawes, that I'm not going to waste a single minute!" Charles said firmly.