“Can we talk about this?”
She very deliberately turned her head away from him. Nothing good would come from talking to him right now. The way she was feeling, she was as likely to hit him as she was to tell him to go to hell. And while she didn’t mind the latter, she’d never been a violent person and didn’t relish the thought of becoming one, even with these extenuating circumstances.
Of course, looking out the window only made her angrier. It had been night when she and Jack were talking in her tent and now it was full daylight outside. Which meant a lot of time had passed, especially considering the fact that they were traveling west. If only a few hours had passed, it would still be pitch-black.
The thought galvanized her, made her speak when she’d sworn to herself that she wasn’t going to say another word. “Where are we?”
He cleared his throat, shifted uncomfortably. “A few hours out of Atlanta.”
“ Atlanta? ” she demanded incredulously. “How long have I been out?”
“About sixteen hours.”
“Sixteen— What the hell did you give me? Ketamine? You could have killed me!”
“I called Jack when we stopped to refuel. He had me check your vitals, and they were fine. He said the sedative was probably hitting you so hard because of how run-down you are.”
“I’m overwhelmed by both of your concern.” Sarcasm dripped from every syllable as she turned back around to face the window. Looking at the clouds was a lot easier than looking at Simon right now.
“Don’t do that,” he said suddenly. “Don’t pretend I’m not here—I used to hate when you did that.”
“What you like and don’t like is high on my priority list right now.” She refused to give him the satisfaction of facing him.
“I hate how you always retreat behind that stony wall of silence. I know you’re mad at me—you have the right to be. But can we talk it out like adults instead of sulking like a couple of children who’ve lost their ball on the playground?”
The words were clipped, crisp, and she realized it had been years since his accent sounded so heavy. He really was as upset by this whole thing as she was. Good. He deserved it. If that made her bitter and unfeeling, so be it. But at least she wasn’t a criminal—transporting another person from one continent to another without her permission.
“What do you want me to say, Simon?” The words were wrenched from her. “That it’s okay that you did this? It isn’t. Not at all. I’ve been making my own decisions since I was seventeen years old. I don’t appreciate one of this magnitude being taken out of my hands. And Atlanta? What the hell is in Atlanta?”
“My apartment. A little over a year ago, I took a job at a cable network based out of Atlanta.”
Despite herself, she glanced around at the very lush interior of the plane. “I think you mean you took a job at the cable network based in Atlanta, don’t you?”
He flushed a little. “Pretty much.”
She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t know what to say, not when she was so shocked at the changes in Simon. A couple of years ago, there was no way he’d have tied himself to anyone. He’d relished being one of the top freelance journalists in the world, free to follow whatever story caught his fancy.
“I still travel a lot, though. I’m one of the people they send out when all hell breaks loose somewhere in the world.”
And there it was. That sounded like the Simon she knew. An inexplicable sense of relief filled her.
When she still didn’t respond, he cleared his throat. “Are we going to talk about this?” he asked. “About what happened in Africa and about…how you ended up here?” His voice trailed off lamely.
“Do you want me to wrap my hands around your throat and squeeze until your eyes bug out of your head?” she asked, sugar-sweet. “No? Then we probably shouldn’t talk quite yet. I’m still a little raw.”
He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Amanda. I really
She very deliberately turned her head away from him. Nothing good would come from talking to him right now. The way she was feeling, she was as likely to hit him as she was to tell him to go to hell. And while she didn’t mind the latter, she’d never been a violent person and didn’t relish the thought of becoming one, even with these extenuating circumstances.
Of course, looking out the window only made her angrier. It had been night when she and Jack were talking in her tent and now it was full daylight outside. Which meant a lot of time had passed, especially considering the fact that they were traveling west. If only a few hours had passed, it would still be pitch-black.
The thought galvanized her, made her speak when she’d sworn to herself that she wasn’t going to say another word. “Where are we?”
He cleared his throat, shifted uncomfortably. “A few hours out of Atlanta.”
“ Atlanta? ” she demanded incredulously. “How long have I been out?”
“About sixteen hours.”
“Sixteen— What the hell did you give me? Ketamine? You could have killed me!”
“I called Jack when we stopped to refuel. He had me check your vitals, and they were fine. He said the sedative was probably hitting you so hard because of how run-down you are.”
“I’m overwhelmed by both of your concern.” Sarcasm dripped from every syllable as she turned back around to face the window. Looking at the clouds was a lot easier than looking at Simon right now.
“Don’t do that,” he said suddenly. “Don’t pretend I’m not here—I used to hate when you did that.”
“What you like and don’t like is high on my priority list right now.” She refused to give him the satisfaction of facing him.
“I hate how you always retreat behind that stony wall of silence. I know you’re mad at me—you have the right to be. But can we talk it out like adults instead of sulking like a couple of children who’ve lost their ball on the playground?”
The words were clipped, crisp, and she realized it had been years since his accent sounded so heavy. He really was as upset by this whole thing as she was. Good. He deserved it. If that made her bitter and unfeeling, so be it. But at least she wasn’t a criminal—transporting another person from one continent to another without her permission.
“What do you want me to say, Simon?” The words were wrenched from her. “That it’s okay that you did this? It isn’t. Not at all. I’ve been making my own decisions since I was seventeen years old. I don’t appreciate one of this magnitude being taken out of my hands. And Atlanta? What the hell is in Atlanta?”
“My apartment. A little over a year ago, I took a job at a cable network based out of Atlanta.”
Despite herself, she glanced around at the very lush interior of the plane. “I think you mean you took a job at the cable network based in Atlanta, don’t you?”
He flushed a little. “Pretty much.”
She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t know what to say, not when she was so shocked at the changes in Simon. A couple of years ago, there was no way he’d have tied himself to anyone. He’d relished being one of the top freelance journalists in the world, free to follow whatever story caught his fancy.
“I still travel a lot, though. I’m one of the people they send out when all hell breaks loose somewhere in the world.”
And there it was. That sounded like the Simon she knew. An inexplicable sense of relief filled her.
When she still didn’t respond, he cleared his throat. “Are we going to talk about this?” he asked. “About what happened in Africa and about…how you ended up here?” His voice trailed off lamely.
“Do you want me to wrap my hands around your throat and squeeze until your eyes bug out of your head?” she asked, sugar-sweet. “No? Then we probably shouldn’t talk quite yet. I’m still a little raw.”
He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Amanda. I really
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