Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Toby
Things To Do Today:
Stay alive
Try not to murder Harry Matheson
So, I’m beginning my day by yelling at Harry. Which isn’t a good start. But for fuck’s sake, can’t he loosen up just a little?
For some insane reason, tears prickle my eyes while Harry just stands there, looking baffled.
Harry Matheson, who always has an answer for everything, doesn’t seem to know what to say right now.
“Toby,” he begins.
“Forget about it.” I smear a hand across my face, then stalk off.
What am I upset about? Is this the events of yesterday finally catching up with me emotionally? The fact it’s now been two days of being stranded in the wilderness and our chances of being rescued seem to be getting more and more remote.
Or am I upset because one insane part of me actually wanted that grinding to turn into something more?
I think Harry is attracted to me. I’ve seen enough evidence since we crashed for that to be an obvious conclusion.
But he’s never going to do anything about it.
Maybe part of my tears is frustration.
Which makes absolutely no sense. I don’t even like Harry Matheson. In fact, I loathe Harry Matheson with every cell in my body.
But fuck, I’m stuck out here with only him.
And who the hell knows how much longer we’ll survive?
One part of me thinks we should seize every fleeting chance at anything that makes us feel good, even momentarily.
But Harry would never do anything like that.
Even if he wants me, he’s married. So I’ve got to cope with this…
weird tension between us with no way to resolve it while we’re trying to stay alive.
Pure hatred would probably be better right now. I know how to cope with pure hatred.
But how can you totally hate someone who saved your life? How can I reconcile my previous opinion of Harry with everything that has happened out here?
I head over to the survival kit and make a performance of doing an inventory of the contents.
“So, we really need to figure out what to do about food. From my calculations, we’ve only got enough energy bars to last one more day.”
“There is a fishing line we could use to acquire food,” Harry says.
“Have you ever fished before?” I ask.
“A few times. Only on my family’s estate.”
“Well, fishing didn’t feature prominently in my childhood, so I guess we’ll be relying on you. Just promise you won’t try to privatize the river if we actually catch something.”
Harry ignores my barb. “I think we should get moving first. Put a bit more distance between us and the plane.”
“Do you have any idea what direction we should head in?”
“I think we should follow the river because it’s prudent to keep close to a water source. And if we follow the river downstream, we should eventually come to a lake. And that should increase our chances of finding human habitation.”
Human habitation. Houses. People. Phones.
I am definitely supportive of the idea of finding human habitation.
“At this point, I’d settle for finding a particularly civilized bear. One that’s learned the art of food delivery, preferably,” I say.
“Shall we get moving then?” Harry asks.
And so we are back to what we do best, trudging through the Nordic forest.
But somehow, as we walk, my gaze can’t stop snaring on Harry. Now that I’ve seen him naked, I know the lines of his body under his coat. His slender torso, the indentation below his ribcage along to his waist, the curve to his arse, the long leanness of his legs.
He catches my gaze, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
Fuck. Being caught checking Harry out definitely won’t help this weird tension between us.
This whole thing makes me question my sanity. Is this what food deprivation and a near-death experience does to someone? Turns you into a person with very questionable taste in men?
I need to get a grip, and not on Harry’s arse, no matter how much that might appeal to part of me right now.
There’s another weird moment as Harry’s ice-cold gaze remains locked on mine before he swivels and continues to stalk through the forest.
I stumble after him, trying to avoid looking at him.
But after a few minutes, I can’t help my gaze drifting back to him because, let’s face it, there’s only so much interest I can pretend to have in pine trees. It’s only when I notice something off about his stride that I suddenly remember his blisters from yesterday.
I clear my throat. “How are your feet today?”
“They are fine.” Harry’s trying for dismissive, but I’m not buying what he’s selling.
I put on a burst of speed so I catch up with him.
“Let me see,” I demand.
Harry pauses to look at me.
“Toby,” he says.
“Harry,” I mimic back in the same tone.
He stops, and I close the distance between us, kneeling at his feet.
“Do you mind?” Harry asks, but I ignore him. I lift his foot like he’s a horse being shod.
Harry obligingly stands there on one foot as I pull off his shoe and examine his heel.
Harry seizes up the moment I touch him, like I’m brandishing a red-hot poker instead of a gentle hand.
Sure enough, there’s blood soaking through the gauze bandages I put on his feet yesterday.
Thought so,” I say.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “It’s not that bad.”
“We’re not going anywhere with your feet like that,” I say.
Harry bends to put his shoe back on, and without thinking, I reach out to steady him, my hand resting on his waist. He glances up at me, surprise, along with something else, flickering in his eyes, and I quickly pull my hand away.
“They are my feet, and I’m telling you I’m fine to continue.” His voice is steely.
“And I’m voting we stay put. Because you might want to be the stoic, uncomplaining man, but if you shred your feet, it puts us both in a bad position long-term.”
Harry scowls. “You don’t trust me to make the best decisions for myself.”
“No. Not on this, I don’t.” I retreat a few steps and plant my feet, squaring my shoulders. “I’m not moving.”
Harry’s nostrils flare. “Why are you being so obstinate?”
I like seeing Harry angry. I like that I’ve got this robotic man finally showing some emotion.
“I’m not being obstinate,” I say, stepping closer to him. “I apologize that you’re not used to people challenging you, Harry, but I’m not some Tory toff who blindly accepts your leadership.”
He doesn’t back away, and suddenly, we’re standing toe-to-toe, close enough that I can see a battle raging in his eyes as he stares at me.
“Why are you always so…so…?” He claws a hand through his hair.
I don’t think I’ll be flattered if Harry continues that sentence, so I cut him off.
“It’s not my fault I’m stranded with the most anally retentive, emotionally suppressed twat on the planet.”
His eyes blaze. “And you’re melodramatic and opinionated. Of all the people I could have been stranded in the wilderness with, you are the absolute worst person in the world for it to be.” He spits every word out, his chest heaving.
But I’m still not backing down. And I’m prepared to play dirty.
“You must hate the fact you want me so much then, right?” I say.
Harry’s breath stutters, but his glare doesn’t waver from mine.
“Yes,” he says in his perfectly crisp upper-class accent. “Yes, I hate it.”
And suddenly, he’s closing the gap between us, determination etched in every line of his face. His hand is on my shoulder, pushing me against the nearest tree. I stumble back a few steps.
And then, when I can retreat no further, he has me pinned against the tree.
My heart pounds, my chest heaving as I take in the absolute fire in Harry’s eyes.
“Come on, Matheson, let’s see if your mouth is good for anything,” I rasp.
With a frustrated growl, his body presses even closer against mine, and his mouth crashes down on my lips.
Harry Matheson’s mouth is on mine, consuming me.
I never knew a kiss could be so fierce.
Our mouths open and our tongues battle each other in a different way than normal. I don’t know what we’re trying to do here, a battle for supremacy, a war over who can get their tongues further into the other’s mouth, but it’s the most ferocious kiss I’ve ever been part of.
The tree’s rough bark is against my back, but I hardly feel it, too lost in the sensation of Harry’s mouth.
One of his hands fists in my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss, while the other roams down my side, fingers digging into my hip.
He kisses me like a man possessed, like every ounce of pent-up frustration and desire has boiled down to this one moment.
Who knew hate kissing was a thing? Or that it could feel this good?