Montana Wildfire (56 page)

He'd meant to claim her. To make her physically admit how much she'd missed him in the time they'd been apart—every bit as much as he'd missed her. He'd proved it to them both. But, as always, it simply wasn't enough. He needed more from her. So much more! He needed,
craved,
everything that it was in her to give. That was why he'd followed her, why he was here now.

Amanda Lennox, body and soul.
That
was what he wanted... what he intended to get. No matter what it took.

Jake felt her knees buckle, and he held her all the closer. His mouth continued to devour hers as he lowered them both to the bed of hard ground and pine needles. The flowery smell of her soap mingled with her natural scent; both invaded his nostrils, invaded his
blood,
and made the fire roaring through his veins ignite to a feverish degree.

"Surrender," he panted against her kiss-swollen lips. He felt her breath rush over his face in hot, rhythmic waves as his knee tried, and failed, to nudge her legs apart.

"Don't." Her body stiffened beneath him. "Don't do this to me again."

"Please, princess. I... God, I need you. I
have
to have you." The words cost him. Jake decided it was a price he would have paid ten times over if it meant having this woman—
his
woman, dammit!—writhing beneath him again, and again, and again.

Amanda shook her head, as much in denial as to shake free the hot, moist mouth that was suckling the side of her neck. She couldn't let this happen again. She wouldn't be able to stand it if Jake loved her now, then turned his back on her in the morning. It would kill her. "No you don't. You need my body, Jake. You don't need me."

The taste of her salty-sweet skin created such a pleasure-pain inside of him that Jake didn't immediately hear her. When the words finally sank in, it was akin to being hit in the head with a rock. He stiffened, lifting himself to glare down at her. Her eyes looked huge, confused, shimmering with unshed tears. It cut Jake up inside to return her gaze. His voice was hoarse and ragged. "I need you, Amanda. More than I've ever needed any woman, any
thing
, in my life, I need you."

He needed her, yes. But did he
love
her? And could she bear to ask him, only to find out that he didn't? "But I thought you said—?"

"I know what I said, dammit! I—"

The words broke off abruptly when her hands strayed to his shoulders. The tip of her index finger traced the jagged scar on the back of his neck. She felt a shiver run through him. And then she felt...

Frowning, Amanda opened her hands and plowed her fingers through his thick hair. She froze, and her frown deepened. In the dim light, she would have sworn he'd pulled his hair back with a strip of leather, the way she'd seem him do often before. Yet...

Dear God, what had Jake done to his hair?

"Jake?" she asked softly, breathlessly.

He hesitated, and Amanda felt the heat of his sigh on her cheek and neck. "Well? What do you think?"

"I... I'm not sure," she said hesitantly. "It's too dark to see."

"Good. I got a little carried away and it—er—came out a little shorter than I'd planned."

Amanda's head reeled. "My God, you really did, didn't you? You really
did
cut it?"

"Yes."

She swallowed hard, only to find that a lump of emotion had lodged in her throat. With effort, she worked her voice around it. "Why?"

"Don't you know?"

"I want you to tell me."

His head dipped, his lips grazed hers. It was a feathery touch. The quiver of his lips against hers told Amanda just how much self-control it took for Jake to keep it that way.

"For you, princess," he admitted softly, huskily. Jake saw a tear slip from the corner of her eye, a crystal bead glistening in the soft, silver moonlight. Leaning forward, he sipped the salty drop away with his mouth and tongue. "I did it for you."

"But—"

"Shhh. I don't want to talk. I've waited too long to have you again, princess, and I... Jesus, I can't wait anymore."

This time when his lips claimed hers, there was nothing soft about it. Nor was there anything soft about Amanda's response.

Jake groaned and pressed her back against the cool, sweet grass. In a heartbeat he'd spread his weight atop her. He loved the way her body accepted his hardness, the way her legs wrapped around him when he nuzzled his hips between her thighs.

She was hungry for him. He could feel it in the way she arched beneath him, in the way her fingers dug into his back as though trying to tear the shirt from his body. He was hungry for her. Ravenous. He'd dreamed of this for days—for long, sleepless nights. In his fantasies, their lovemaking had been slow and easy and so goddamn good.

But that was fantasy.

This—
having his woman hot and willing in his arms—was a reality almost too good to live through. Having his blood coursing through his veins, pounding in his head, drilling through his body, was more real than anything Jake had ever known and...

His good intentions shattered. He couldn't go slow. He wanted,
needed,
her too badly.

He stripped off their clothes with a speed that left them both breathless, then settled himself against her. For a long, torturous moment he was content merely to feel her beneath him, against him. Content to lick a hot, wet path down her throat, and savor the salty, forbidden taste of her on his tongue. Content to draw in deep breaths that were filled with the sweet, sweet scent that was uniquely Amanda Lennox.

But only for a moment. Because Jake's body had other ideas, other demands, and they were too sharp and strong and primitive to deny or ignore.

He lowered his weight atop her, curling one arm beneath and around her, holding her close as he arched forward. He claimed her in one, sure thrust.

She moaned and arched up to meet him. Her legs tightened around his hips as though she never planned to let him go. Jesus, the way he felt right now, Jake prayed to God she never would!

Home,
he thought as he buried his face in her hair.
Home.

Their lovemaking was wild, untamed. Hungry kisses merged with passionate caresses to drive their senses over the brink. The climax built quickly, quickly. It crashed over them in breathtaking waves of sensation, swift and jarring and acute.

If it ended too soon, neither complained...

Because the second time they took each other slowly, and with nerve-shattering ease.

*

The first light of morning tinged the cloud-dotted sky in fluffy, pale pink streaks that looked like they'd been swirled there by an artist's brush. That was the first thing Amanda saw when she opened her eyes. The beauty of daybreak paled in comparison to her second sight, that of Jake Chandler's ruggedly handsome face. His normally harsh features were sleep-softened and relaxed. Attractive. Heart-stoppingly so.

Smiling contentedly, Amanda stifled a yawn and lifted herself up on an elbow. Jake's arm flexed, but he didn't wake up. Though his possessive grip on her hip gradually loosened, it didn't fall away.

Amanda liked that. She liked waking up enfolded in Jake's embrace, in the same way she'd liked sleeping curled in his arms, her cheeks resting against his hard, warm chest. Her dreams had been filled with the lulling beat of his heart... and with memories of their lovemaking. Oh, yes, she did like this. All of it. Maybe more than she had a right to.

At some time during the night, Jake had carried her back to camp. Her body glowed when she remembered how he'd laid her down on the bedroll and covered her with a blanket. Her blood sizzled when she remembered how he'd promptly joined her beneath it. And what they'd done. All night.

Again and again and again.

Amanda felt her cheeks flame. Searching for any distraction from hot, steamy memories, she let her gaze, as well as her hand rake gently through Jake's hair.

The inky strands felt feather-soft as they sifted through her fingers; lighter from lack of length, but just as sleek, just as silky. His hair wasn't as short as he'd led her to believe. The back was just long enough to scrape the collar of a shirt—but, of course, since he wasn't wearing one, that was only a guess on her part, one she wasn't anxious to prove out. The front had been trimmed more severely. It now swept back from his face in an appealing way that accentuated and defined the high mold of his cheeks and the chiseled hollows beneath.

"Oh, Jake," Amanda sighed as she fingered into place a short, inky lock that had wisped over his brow. Why? Why had he done this for her? Why couldn't he say the words? Or didn't he feel the emotion behind them?

Her caress slackened. Her fingertips grazed his temple, and she cupped his warm, smooth cheek before her hand dropped onto his shoulder. She felt the dormant bands of muscle beneath her open palm. The puckered scar on the back of his neck, no longer hidden by a curtain of thick black hair, seared her fingertips.

Amanda stiffened and started to pull away, only to find her wrist abruptly ensnared by rough copper fingers. His grip wasn't painful, but it was tight, insistent. Her gaze lifted, and she found herself a willing captive of hot, molten silver.

"It's in the past, where it belongs," he said, his voice still low and gritty from sleep. "Let it go."

"Can you, Jake? Can
you
let it go?"

"Yes. With your help."

Only a declaration of love would have sounded sweeter to Amanda's ears. A trickle of hope warmed her blood.
With your help.
Surely those weren't the words of a man ready to saddle his horse and ride out. Were they? "Jake,
I—"

"Amanda—"

A sudden, tense pause crackled between them. Amanda was the first to break it. "I should see to breakfast," she said quickly as, gathering the top blanket around her, she pushed shakily to her feet. Jake, she noticed from the corner of her eye, made no move to toss the other blanket over himself. Instead, he lay unabashedly naked, his hard-muscled body molded to the ground beneath him as though he were one with it. Wasn't he cold? If so, he didn't show it.

"You're
making breakfast?" he muttered, and levered himself up on one elbow. The beginnings of a sarcastic grin tugged at one corner of his mouth, even as his gaze raked her. "I didn't know princesses could cook."

"We royals are just full of surprises," Amanda quipped. With a toss of her head, she walked toward her saddlebag. From over her shoulder she added, "Don't expect anything fancy. Jerky and beans is about the extent of what I can do. I'd offer you some peaches, but..."

She'd knelt down beside the saddlebag and thrown open the flap, rummaging inside by feel alone. Her voice faded when she felt the cold side of a tin can graze her fingertips. Frowning, she pulled it free. Amanda had to read the label three times before she trusted herself to turn only her glare on Jake. "You've been following me!"

His expression was as readable as a rock. That in itself was condemning as hell. "What makes you think so?"

She gestured to him with the can. "Peaches," she said triumphantly, as though that explained everything.

"I know what it is. I can read labels, princess."

"No, no, obviously you don't understand. I ate my last can of peaches last night."

"Yeah? So?"

"So...
where did this can come from?"

"Your saddlebag?"

"Don't get fresh with me. This wasn't in there last night, Jake. I know. I would have eaten it if it had been."

Jake cleared his throat, shrugged, and glanced away. "Maybe you didn't see it."

"Maybe. Or maybe
you
put it there."

This time the grin that curled over his lips was full and steeped in secretive humor. His eyes twinkled devilishly. "Now why would I do that, princess?"

Amanda's breath caught. Lord, when he smiled...!

She lost her train of thought, remembering it only when her fingers instinctively flexed around the can. "You
have
been following me, haven't you?" She didn't wait for an answer; the broadening of his grin told her all she needed to know. "For how long? And... why?"

Jake sighed, and pushed to his feet. With every step that brought him closer, Amanda's heartbeat grew weaker. Her palms were suddenly moist. Drawing breath into her burning lungs took more concentration than she wanted to spare. Her gaze was fixed on Jake. The way the morning light kissed his body—
all
of his body—made him look sleek and powerful and... beautiful. There was no other word to describe him.

He stopped beside her, crouching until they were on eye-level. His calloused thumb scraped the delicate line of her jaw. As though he couldn't resist, he leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers. The contact was brief but jarring. To them both.

"Amanda, honey," he said finally, his tone serious and controlled—even though his gaze continued to sparkle with... what? "Did you know you're in Wyoming? You have been for about a day and a half now."

"I'm
... what?"
she squeaked, then blinked hard and frowned. Wyoming? Not Idaho? But how could that be?

"Yup. See, the way I figure it, at the rate you're traveling you should hit Mexico in a couple of months."

"Mexico?
But I don't want to go to Mexico!"

Jake started to laugh, but swallowed the impulse back, thinking correctly that it wouldn't be appreciated. He cleared his throat, gave himself a second to compose his sudden humor, and said, "I know, princess. That's why I'm here."

This was getting confusing. "You're here because I'm in Wyoming, even though I want to go to Washington," she muttered beneath her breath, shaking her head. "That makes no sense, Jake. And what on earth does any of it have to do with peaches?"

His hand opened, holding the soft underside of her chin, drifting over the long, smooth taper of her throat. The pulse nestled in the base leapt erratically against his palm. "Yes, I put the peaches in your saddlebag. And yes, I added the extra slices of jerky that you may or may not have noticed yesterday. And yes, the two extra cans of beans the day before that. And..." he shook his head and sighed. "Amanda, you don't really think you can stoke a fire before you go to bed and still have it blazing when you wake up the next morning, do you?"