Montana Wildfire (11 page)

Jake was standing behind her. Amanda saw him, in the same instant she collided with the smooth, hard wall of his chest. Water sloshed from the pan when she stumbled backward.

His fingers coiled around her upper arms, his grip firm yet at the same time oddly gentle. She wondered if saving her from a plunge in the frigid river was his only reason for touching her. Something—the look in his eyes, perhaps?—told her it had been a convenient excuse.

"Mr. Chandler, please," she snapped, trying to shrug from his grip. Why oh,
why
couldn't she think straight when this man touched her? Why...? Oh no, her knees were going weak again. And she was beginning to shake—again.

"Please what?" he asked, and she thought his tone sounded frustratingly calm.

"Please unhand me."

He shook his head. Amanda refused to notice the way the small brown feather, buried in a bed of long black hair, grazed his chest. "Not yet. We've got something to settle first, princess. And the sooner we do it, the better."

She scowled.
Now
what was he talking about? And did she really want to stay here long enough to find out? No, she did not. Of course, his grip on her arms said he wasn't giving her a choice. "Couldn't it wait until morning? I'm tired and my ankle is throbbing. All I want is to wash off some of this dirt and get a little sleep."

"I know," he replied dryly. "Problem is, I want this settled now."

Her gaze narrowed and sharpened. "And you always get what you want. Isn't that right, Mr. Chandler?"

"Always. You'd do well to remember that, Miss Lennox." His hands blazed slow, hot paths down her arms. One by one, his fingers curled inward, manacling her wrists.

At five foot six, Amanda wasn't exactly short. At one hundred and fifteen perfectly proportioned pounds, she was slender but doubted anyone would consider her delicate. Herself included. So why, for the first time in her life, was she feeling tiny and frail? Feminine? Vulnerable? She didn't know, and she didn't like it. It was an unsettling feeling. "I won't have to, since you'll no doubt remind me often enough."

"No doubt. Have a seat." He gave a tug on her wrists.

Amanda, planning to refuse, shifted her weight. Her ankle spasmed with pain. A gasp hissed though her teeth at the same time her knees, already watery from his touch, buckled. The ground felt hard when her tender bottom slammed atop it.

"Is such manhandling necessary?" she snapped, and yanked her skirt hem primly down around her ankles. She couldn't resist chafing away the lingering feel of him on her wrists. Even though he'd let her go, the skin there still burned with the imprint of his fingers.

"Probably not. But what the hell? It works."

Since she'd trained her gaze on the river gurgling in front of her, Amanda felt rather than saw Jake crouch on the ground beside her.
Closely
beside her. The heat of his leg seared her upper arm. Beneath the scant barrier of her sleeve, her flesh sizzled with awareness.

A tense moment ticked past. Amanda concentrated on the sound the river made as it lapped against the sandy bank. She told herself she wasn't aware of the way Jake Chandler's steady breath cut through the chilly night air. Or the feel of it puffing over her too-sensitive cheek and neck. But she was.

She sighed in resignation. "All right, Mr. Chandler," she said slowly, cautiously, "I'm listening. What do you want?" Glancing to the side, she saw a sly grin curl over his lips. His steely gaze darkened with innuendo. Her stomach sank. She sucked in a shaky breath and quickly looked back out over the water. "What I mean is, what do you want to
talk
to me about?"

Jake plucked a long stalk of grass from the ground. He took his time clamping it between his teeth, rolling it from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue, knowing he was prolonging her agony.

The grass tasted crisp and sweet. His gaze settled on Amanda Lennox's lips, and he wondered if her mouth would taste as good. He knew it would. Her lips would be soft and honey-sweet, her gasps of surrender hot and airy. The inside of her mouth would be warm and moist and tasty; a flavor that was to die for. Jake could already feel a sliver of his soul die with the need to prove the theory.

His voice turned gruff. "Did I say I wanted to talk?"

"Yes, you—" Amanda's mouth snapped closed. No, now that he mentioned it, he'd said he wanted to "settle" something between them. He'd never said he wanted to do it verbally. She'd simply
assumed...

Amanda detoured her thoughts onto a safer path. She concentrated on the ankle that was throbbing mightily, on the pounding in her temples that refused to dull. She was exhausted, every muscle in her body ached. The nearly empty pan she clutched tightly in her fist reminded her of her previous goal: a hot sponge bath and a good night's sleep. She did
not
want to sit here exchanging riddles with this man all night. Perhaps a determined glare would make him explain himself more clearly?

It didn't. Instead, Jake cushioned his elbows atop the shelf of his rock-solid thighs and leaned slightly toward her.

Amanda did
not
notice the way his shoulder muscles flexed with the movement. Nor did she see the stretch of smooth copper skin hugging his chest, arms, and taut, taut belly. It took effort, but she ignored the sinewy thighs on which his upper body weight was balanced. Of course she did. A properly bred young lady like herself would never notice such things.

She tore her gaze from him, but her attention wasn't allowed to waver long. The crook of his index finger hooked beneath her chin, and dragged it right back.

Jake turned his head and spit out the stalk of grass. His gaze never left her huge green eyes. "You've got two choices, princess. Either we get this over with, end the suspense here and now, or I'll be gone come morning. Without you."

"Are you threatening me? Might I remind you, sir, that I'm paying you very good money for your—er—services."

"Go ahead. Then
I'll
remind
you
that I don't have any of that 'good money' warming my pocket yet, do I?" He leaned forward. Just another inch. Just enough to put his chest into searing contact with her shoulder. "Know what I think?" She shook her head. "I think there's a reason for that. In fact, I'm starting to think that maybe you don't have any money to pay me with."

"I do!"

His grip on her chin turned inward. His hot palm scorched her neck. His fingers didn't tighten around the base of her throat, but Amanda had the uneasy feeling that was only because he was leashing the impulse.

"Prove it. Show me the money."

"I can't," she snapped, her mind churning. "Don't look at me like that. I wasn't about to carry a bulky saddlebag down to the river with me. I had enough trouble getting here myself as it was. I assure you, Mr. Chandler, the money is safe."

Oh, God, what was she saying? There was money in her saddlebag, but not much. Only enough to get to Pony. There would be more once Roger was found and returned to his father, of course. A lot more. Mentally she'd already set aside a large chunk of her salary to pay Jake. Unfortunately, if she admitted that to him, she would also have to explain why she didn't have the money she claimed to have in her possession. He would want to know why she was getting money from Edward Bannister, and somewhere in there, she would have to tell him who Roger was.

Amanda was still convinced that was a bad idea. Her earlier assessment of this man stood firm. Jake was arrogant, dangerous, and highly untrustworthy. Until he proved otherwise, lying seemed a lesser risk than telling him the truth.

While that was all well and good, it didn't tell her how to prevent Jake from deserting her. She'd been lost before they'd joined forces. Without him, she'd be lost again come dawn. She was clever, but her skills were domestic, not the sort needed to survive in the wilderness alone. Since she was unable to find Roger without help, and since Jake was the only help available, it stood to reason she couldn't, under any circumstances, let
him
desert her.

Jake dropped his hand from her neck. He uncoiled his lanky frame and straightened. The restraining hand Amanda wrapped around his wrist stopped him when he would have walked away.

The tendons beneath her fingertips pulled taut. She might have been able to deal with that, had it been all she felt. It wasn't. A jolt of awareness shot up her arm. Her blood seared with the heat of it. "Where are you going?" she asked, her voice unaccountably husky. Had she just felt him shiver?

"To ransack your saddlebag. Where else?"

"But we aren't done here."

Jake glanced down, his expression guarded. "We're not?"

"No. You said there was something you want settled between us. Or were you referring to the money? If so..." She paused. "Excuse my bluntness, Mr. Chandler, but exactly how did you plan to settle the question of the money's existence without talking about it?"

Jake's gaze narrowed, dipped, dragged over her lips. His mouth went dry, his throat tight. "I planned to ask you about that after..."

"What?" she pressed. "After what?" Amanda wasn't sure she wanted an answer. She'd asked the question only to stall for time, hoping he would forget about the money entirely. The way his gaze darkened, stroking lustily over her mouth, suggested her plan had worked. Perhaps a bit too well.

Jake knew that the smart thing to do right now would be to turn his back and walk away. And to keep walking. To hell with the money. Even if she did have it, he didn't need it
that
badly. What he
did
need—so badly he ached!—was something he could never get from a prissy white lady like Amanda Lennox.

He didn't leave.

Instead, Jake stood rooted to the spot, his gaze caressing her face. He recognized that as a mistake the instant he saw the tip of her tongue dart out to moisten suddenly parched lips. Again, he wondered how she would taste. Smooth and sweet, like whiskey and honey. It was an odd combination to be sure, but an appropriate one. A damn tempting one. His tongue made a frustrated sweep over the back of his teeth. Hell, he could taste her already. His gut kicked. The air rushed from his lungs, and all thoughts of walking anywhere melted clean away.

Dammit! Before he committed himself to stay with her for longer than tonight, they really
did
have something to settle between them. Something that did not involve talking. Something that had been eating at him—and, he suspected, eating at her—all day. Something hot. Something inevitable. Something that damn well couldn't wait.

He glanced down, and saw that her fingers were still wrapped around his wrist. His pulse drummed a savage beat against her thumb. Her hand looked pale, the fingers long and slender as they rested against the native darkness of his arm. That sight—flawless white against dark copper—should have been enough to break the spell. And it might have been, had he not felt a tremor skate through her fingers... and a reciprocal vibration shimmy like a bolt of fire up his arm.

It was all the invitation Jake needed; all the invitation he required. He grabbed her wrist, and tugged her to her feet. His arm snaked around her waist, catching her close when she stumbled against him. Her cheeks went ghost-white. Jake heard her gasp, saw her wince. Only then did he remember her injured ankle.

Indulging in sympathy wasn't one of Jake Chandler's virtues. In fact, he didn't recognize or acknowledge the emotion, even when it sluiced through him. Cursing under his breath, he bent at the waist, scooped her up in his arms, and strutted back toward their camp.

The pan dropped from Amanda's abruptly slack fingers. It clinked against the side of a rock, but Jake didn't bother to stop and retrieve it. He'd fetch it later, when he came back for his things. Right now, he had more important matters to attend to.

I insist you put me down." Amanda was striving for a tone that sounded neutral but demanding. Rational would have been nice; pity she couldn't manage it . The
last
thing she wanted was for Jake to know how his strong arms cradling her—his warm, bare flesh
touching
her—made her feel.

"Insist all you want, princess. Won't do you any good."

"And if I were to tell you I can walk?"

She felt his shrug. "I'd say that's just dandy. Walk all you want...
tomorrow.
Tonight, you stay off that ankle."

Amanda gritted her teeth. Lord, the man was stubborn! How did he think she'd gotten down to the river in the first place?
Hired coach?
"You aren't going to put me down, are you?"

"What do you think?" he asked, and kept right on walking.

And that, Amanda decided, was exactly the problem. She couldn't think when Jake touched her. And when he held her close, as he was doing now... well, she didn't
want
to think, she wanted only to
feel.
Strange, new, and exciting sensations spiraled through her. Was it possible to feel hot and cold at the same time? It must be, because that was how she felt. Warm and tingly, insanely alive and yet... just as cold and insanely empty. Yes, that was it. She felt empty.