Montana Wildfire (13 page)

"You will?" Lord, but it was embarrassing to hear how small and panicky her voice sounded.

"Sure I will, princess. Anything for a lady." His pause was long enough to make her heart skip, yet short enough to stop just shy of blatant torture, "You
did
want to learn how to light a fire this way, didn't you?"

Amanda felt the vibrations of his laughter against her back. She told herself she didn't
really
tremble—of course not!—but she knew that she did. She also knew Jake was very much aware of the way his sinewy body absorbed her minute quivers.

Not waiting for an answer, he started guiding her small white hands back and forth on either side of the stick. His initial pace was slow, his strokes long and smooth. The stick rolled from the tip of her fingers to the heel of her palm, then back again. The process was repeated.

Once she had the rhythm, he accelerated the tempo.

The insides of his arms rubbed against the outside of hers. A thin sleeve separated flesh from flesh; in no time, it seemed to melt clean away. Amanda could feel the play of his muscles with every stroke. His cheek was nestled against her ear. She felt his breath in the chest that moved against her back, in the heat of each controlled exhalation, and the way it seeped through the material covering the upper swell of her breasts.

The stick, Amanda, pay attention to the stick!

She pasted her shattered concentration together and focused her thoughts on her hands and the stick she whirled between her stinging palms. Her gaze shifted to where the sticks met. She frowned. Was it her imagination, or had the powder the friction had created begun to glow? She blinked hard, refocusing. That
wasn't
her imagination. The wood
was
glowing. A curl of smoke wafted into the air. Some of the grass flickered with a spark. It wasn't much, but Amanda could have sworn she felt the inviting heat of it against her fingertips.

"Blow on it," Jake told her. "Very gently."

She did, and giggled when more of the grass caught. Soon, even the two sticks were burning. The sting of charred wood laced the air. Amanda inhaled deeply, and knew she'd never smelled anything so sweet in her life.

She'd started a fire without matches! Oh, what a heady feeling accomplishment was. Her shoulders squared with pride. It wasn't until she noticed that her back was cold and that there was no firm obstruction holding her in place, that she realized Jake was no longer behind her.

"Proud of yourself, ain't ya, princess?"

Her gaze whipped up. Amanda tracked his voice and found Jake lying on the grass to her right, not too far away. He was sprawled on his side, his lean body stretched casually over the ground. His right elbow was bent, the heel of that palm supported his head. A cigarette dangled from one corner of his mouth. The tip was dark, yet his eyes were squinted as though curls of smoke were trailing up there from the unlit end.

Her gaze sharpened on his other hand, the fingers of which were poised over his outer thigh. Her jaw hardened. Her green eyes narrowed furiously when she saw his hand flick upward along the coarse side-seam of his denim pants.

The sound of a match flaring to life was grating against its backdrop of taut silence.

Amanda sucked in a quick breath. Her glare was degrees hotter than the flame Jake held to the tip of his cigarette. She was too angry to yell. Hell, she was too angry to
breathe!
She forced her attention back to the crackling fire. Her fingers shook as she fed the struggling flames a few brittle twigs. "You're not much of an Indian, Mr. Chandler," she said tightly.

"Guess that makes us even then, Miss Lennox. Because you ain't much of a lady."

Her fury grew like the fire she'd built. Both were white-hot, hungry. When she felt sufficiently enraged, Amanda shifted her glare to Jake. "You bastard!"

He wedged the cigarette between his index and middle finger. Taking it from his mouth, he used it to point at her. His gaze was frosty. "Now
that's
the only thing you've gotten right all day, lady. I
am
a bastard. In more ways than one. If you've got a brain in that pretty little head of yours, that's one thing you won't keep flinging in my face. I don't like it."

"I'm not a violent person," she said. Her voice wasn't the only thing trembling with anger now. "But I have a very real need to slap you. Quite hard."

"Why's that, princess? Am I...
annoying
you again?"

"I've gone past annoyance. Furious would be a better word."

"And you think giving me a good slap will make you feel better?"

"Oh, yes. I'm certain it would."

Jake put the cigarette to his lips and inhaled until the tip glowed red-hot. "Well?" he said on a thick exhalation of smoke. "What are you waiting for? I may be a bastard, but I've never left a lady in need." He grinned; the gesture didn't reach the gaze that continued to burn into her. "If you get my drift."

Amanda's need for violence—which, she realized suddenly, had been coming quite frequently of late—had never been stronger. Her palm itched to smack Jake hard enough to make his shiny white teeth rattle. And why not? The cad deserved no better after the nasty trick he'd just played on her.

Giving in to impulse, Amanda fed the fire a few more sticks, then pushed to her feet. Her ankle hurt. The throbbing pain that shot up her leg only fed her fury. She hobbled over the space that separated them. Balancing the majority of her weight on her good leg, she planted her fists on her hips. Her spine remained rigid as she glared down at him.

If she'd hoped to intimidate him, she missed her mark. Jake didn't look the least concerned as he flicked the barely-smoked cigarette away. It made a fiery arch from his fingers to where it landed to smolder itself out in the night-cooled glass.

It took a second for Jake to realize she wasn't going to squat down and carry out her threat. That was a shame. He had been prepared to swipe her off balance and cushion her fall with his body. It was the "cushioning" part he'd been looking forward to—maybe more than he should have.

His gaze began at her shoes. While he skimmed the full skirt, shifting in dark calico folds around her legs, he paid more attention to the flare of hips outlined beneath. Her waist was a slender temptation to a man's hands. Above were two firm swells that were even more tempting.

The set of her shoulders was hard and uncompromising, yet even they looked soft and feminine to his appreciative eye. Her throat was long and creamy and white; the center slid up and down in a convulsive swallow. Her jaw worked as she clenched and unclenched her teeth. Her lips looked pinched. Even her high, regal cheekbones looked strained and angry. The skin stretched over them was a hot, furious shade of pink. And then there were her eyes...

The moonlight made her eyes look like pools of dark, luminescent green, the color of a storm-tossed sea. It was her eyes that Jake focused on now, because, whether she knew it or not, it was her eyes that gave her away every time.

She was furious with him, he knew. Hell, hadn't he goaded her to it? But anger was only one of the emotions he'd stirred inside of her. Behind her outrage he saw something else. Something stronger. Something she was trying oh, so hard to hide and deny, but couldn't. She was far too innocent to know how; he was far too experienced to be fooled.

The prissy white lady had no idea of how much she desired the man she thought to be a wildly reared savage. But Jake knew. And the knowledge made his heart pound and his blood flow hot.

"Remember down by the river?" he said. His voice sounded raspy and thick. His hand came up, handcuffing her wrist. Her pulse drummed against the heel of his palm. "When I said there was something we needed to settle?"

"Y-yes," Amanda answered, and wondered when the sting of fury had left her voice. When he'd touched her—
that
was when she'd weakened. While the urge to slap him wasn't entirely gone, it had faded considerably.

"It's time."

She stiffened warily. "Time?"

"Yup." His expression was as serious as his tone.
"Past
time. We're going to settle this here and now, Miss Lennox."

"Settle what?" But Amanda had a sinking feeling she already knew. Though she tried to prepare herself, it did no good. Hearing the way his silky drawl rasped over the words, watching the way his lips moved as his spoke them... well, there
was
no preparing for her reaction to that!

"I've been wondering all day what it would be like to kiss you. It's about time I found out, wouldn't you say?"

The wrist within his grasp trembled. They both felt it.

"I-I really don't think that's a good idea, Mr. Chandler." She tried to pull from his grasp. His fingers tightened. His grip, while not painful, was firm. Determined.

"On the contrary, Miss Lennox. I think that's the best damn idea I've had all day. Come here. Let's get this over with so we can both put it out of our minds for good."

He tugged, but Amanda was ready for him. Though her knees had turned to jelly, threatening to buckle at any moment, she managed to stand her ground. Again, she tried to slip her hand free. Again, he refused to let her go.

Her temper snapped. She lashed out in the only way she knew how—with her razorsharp tongue.

"Why, you egotistical bastard! For your information, sir, I have more important things on my mind than... Surely you don't think I've spent my day thinking about how it would feel to... to..." She groaned. If she couldn't
say
the words, how on earth could she
deny
them?

"Kiss me? Yeah, princess, that's exactly what I think. And you know what else? I think you might as well quit fighting. We both know I'm going to haul you down here sooner or later. And the longer it takes..."

Amanda, lulled by the husky pitch of his voice, failed to notice when it trailed off. Her gaze had dipped to his mouth. Watching him form words was an experience unto itself. The way his lips moved was fascinating. Mesmerized by the sight, she wasn't prepared for another, more insistent tug. Without warning, she felt the world being knocked out from under her.

Jake allowed himself a split-second grin before springing to motion. He sat up, his arm coiling tightly around her waist, drawing her toward him when she would have stumbled backward. Momentum was on his side. He had no difficulty turning her in the direction he wanted her to fall.

Amanda landed hard. Her bottom made a solid collision with his lap. Both of them groaned.

His hand had settled on her thigh. Very high up. His thumb and index finger were spread wide; the webbing between coated the groove separating shapely leg from equally shapely hip.

She wasn't sure how that had happened. Nor did she know how her own hands had ended up splaying his belly. His skin felt hot and smooth and hard to the touch. It felt... alarmingly nice.

Jake cocked his head. The tip of the small brown feather, the fringe of the rebellious braid, skimmed Amanda's knuckles. One of them shivered. She wasn't sure who.

She turned her head, and confused green met lusty silver.

No, that's wrong. His eyes aren't silver, they're...

From a distance his eyes looked the color of a stormy winter sky; cold and grey and piercing. Up close, they didn't look that way at all. The center of each iris was an intriguing shade of silver-grey. It was the band of solid blue rimming the circumference that really gave those eyes character, and added a spark of warmth. That, and the small, seasoned creases shooting out from each sun-copper corner. The contrast between his inky hair and dark skin, and the penetrating color of his eyes, made his gaze burn.

"That's better. Now, what were you saying, princess? You weren't really going to deny it, were you?"

"M-maybe," she evaded breathlessly, then swallowed hard when his hand left her thigh. It made a lazy, skimming ascent, never pausing, never once leaving her body. His fingers vised her jaw. Like his grip, his expression was insistent.

"Deny it if you can. I'll just call you a liar. And we'll both know I'm right, won't we? Of course, if you'd rather I
proved
it to
you..."

She shook her head. It was a quick, jerky motion, vague because it was trapped by his hand. "That won't be necessary."

"Good. Now come here."

Her eyes widened. Nervous, she licked her lips, then dearly wished she hadn't. His gaze shadowed the movement, hungrily tracking the path her tongue made. "I
am
here."

"Un-uh. Come closer."

The arm around her waist flexed. She could feel the heat of his chest seeping through her dress. The heat emanating from his lap was even more pronounced.

And was it firmer? "Mr. Chandler, if I came any closer to you we'd melt into each other!"

"That's the idea, princess. A man likes a woman to melt right into him when he's kissing her breathless. That's how he knows she likes it."

"Oh."

He scowled.
"Oh?
Is that what all proper young ladies are trained to say when a man threatens to kiss them? 'Oh?'"

His words made her breath go all rapid and shallow. It did quite the opposite to her heart rate. Amanda strove to compensate for the warm, fluttering sensations in her tummy by lowering her tone and edging her words with a firmness she didn't feel. "I'm sure I wouldn't know, since I've rarely been kissed. However, since you seem to be the expert on ladies, why don't you tell me what I'm supposed to say at a time like this?"

"Please."

She gulped. His lips were so close she could feel the hot wash of his breath against her mouth. His kiss was a constant threat, and her lips tingled with the promise of it, even as she snapped, "Please!"

"All right ma'am. If you insist." His mouth dipped, and his next words were rasped against her lips. "Lady or no lady, I never could resist a woman who begs."

"Begs?
Mr. Chandler, I most certainly did
not—!"

His mouth crashed down on hers, sealing the words in her throat. There was no time to say more. A second later, there was no breath left in her to say anything with.