Page 70 of The Unlikely Pair

But while I’m feeling assured of my ability to secure food, my confidence wavers when it comes to my ability to have Toby Webley in my arms without my body proving traitorous.

We’re getting better at constructing temporary shelters to ward off the cold. This time, we’ve made a shelter against a large pine tree.

Toby finishes tending to the fire and comes over to where I’ve made our usual nest of coats and survival blankets, looking slightly sheepish.

“I guess we should still take turns being sentry?” he asks.

“Yes. I think that would be prudent,” I say as I lift the survival blanket so he can slip into the cocoon of warmth.

I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself as Toby’s weight settles against my chest. He smells of smoke and some other deeply addictive masculine scent that is pure Toby.

It’s all I can do not to pull him closer, to bury my face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in.

I try to keep my mind away from replaying Toby and me this morning. His mouth on mine, his hand down my trousers. The feel of him, the taste of him.

Time to start summoning some Latin verbs.

Cado, cadis, cadit,the consonants are sharp and biting in my mind.Cadimus, caditis, cadunt. To fall, to sink, to surrender. It’s an apt description of my current state, this slow descent into something with Toby that I’m struggling to control.

I shift slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, but it’s a grievous error. The movement brings Toby’s body closer to mine, and I bite back a groan at the contact.

Fero, fers, fert, I think, gritting my teeth against the onslaught of wanting.Ferimus, fertis, ferunt.To bear, to endure, to suffer.

“Harry?” Toby’s voice slices through me trying to conjure up Latin verbs.

“Yes?”

“Do you think a search party will find us?” His voice is low.

I swallow.

“I have no doubt they are conducting their search with the utmost diligence,” I say.

The only problem is we have no assurance they are even searching in the correct country.

Toby turns in my arms.

“What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get back to civilization?” he asks.

“Take a bath,” I say instantly.

He laughs, and the sound sends a flush through me.

“I’m sure you’re going to suggest the same for me,” he says.

“I do feel that raising our standards of personal hygiene back to acceptable levels would be advisable.”

“I think I’m winning the best beard contest, right?” he asks.

This lighthearted conversation with Toby may be more than my heart can handle.

I clear my throat before I answer. “Are you seriously boasting about your ability to grow facial hair like it’s some sort of admirable achievement?”

“Hey, I take my wins where I can get them.”

“I suppose it’s a good idea as a Labour politician to adopt that philosophy,” I say.

He makes another sound that almost sounds like a snort-laugh.