Page 37 of The Unlikely Pair

Toby

Things To Do Today:

Get further away from the armed terrorists

Find food and shelter

Try not to kill Harry Matheson

Waking up to Harry Matheson staring at me was surreal.

It took me a moment to remember exactly why Harry’s face was in my field of vision. For a second, I thought…well, let’s just say my mind had gone to a horror film scenario where Past Toby had shown a remarkable lack of judgment and taste.

I was almost relieved when I remembered we’d been in a plane crash and were currently being hunted by armed terrorists.

Now, watching Harry stalk away from me, his suit still looking miraculously unruffled, I try not to replay how it felt to have Harry’s arms around me.

I did a lot of thinking in the middle of the night when it was my turn to play sentry. And crazily enough, most of my thinking wasn’t about how to escape the predicament we’re currently in.Most of it instead was sifting through my life and my previous relationships.

I’d never realized how empty my life was until I’d talked with Harry last night. I mean, I have lots of friends who will be worried about me right now, and I know Oliver will be extremely concerned. But I have no partner or close family who would feel my absence on that guttural, instinctual level. Who wouldn’t be able to imagine their life without me in it.

Although, maybe I should feel grateful for that, given our current survival chances.

Harry seems determined to ignore me as we pick our way through the undergrowth. He regularly consults the compass and adjusts his direction without glancing back to ensure I’m following him.

Given I’m—hopefully—the only human in the near vicinity, choosing to ignore me is a strategy that can’t last too long, but I let him indulge it for now. Harry not speaking to me is a blessing I should be thankful for. I’ve already had to use far more words on him than I usually do on arrogant toffs.

I content myself with observing his hair, which really does look like tiny pixies have spent the night using it as a cornfield to create a maze in.

Who knew Harry’s hair was naturally like that? That all it needs is the absence of hair product to be able to roam loose and untamed?

My gaze drifts from his hair to the rest of him.

Harry Matheson is a good-looking guy. As much as I dislike him, I can’t deny his aesthetic appeal.

He’s an inch taller than me, lean and haughty with it like his elegant posture reinforces his aristocratic background. Harry wasn’t bred to work in the fields or coal mines like my ancestors. He was bred to watch polo matches and sit sipping gin and tonic on the patio while his tenant farmers brought in the crops.

His breeding is in every elegant line of his body.

Asleep, Harry was somehow more tolerable.

I guess everyone is at their most vulnerable when they’re sleeping, and there was the way his body instinctively curled into mine whenever I shifted that left an unsettled feeling inside me. Maybe it was simply the contrast between his sleeping form and the untouchable persona Harry has when he’s awake.

God. I’ve spent the last ten minutes trudging through the Scandinavian forest thinking about Harry Matheson. Definitely not at all what I expected I’d be doing twenty-four hours ago.

I force my brain to think about other, more pleasant things. Like the fact my stomach is growling in protest due to having only fed it a single energy bar this morning. It feels like it’s threatening to digest itself, along with some of my other vital organs, if I don’t sufficiently satisfy it soon. At least we stumble across another stream to refill our water bottles, so thirst isn’t added to our list of steadily growing problems.