Montana Wildfire (14 page)

There was nothing gentle about Jacob Blackhawk Chandler. The man was hard as granite, inside and out. That wasn't speculation, it was fact. Confusion came in the way his mouth ate at hers in a manner that was hot, yet provocatively tender. If Amanda didn't know better, she might have thought Jake wanted her to enjoy this kiss as much as he so obviously did.

And that was the problem. She
did
enjoy it. So much so, in fact, that it didn't take long for her resistance—if she'd ever really had any—to melt. Oh, who was she trying to fool? Her
entire body
melted the second his mouth had claimed hers. She was soft, willing... embarrassingly responsive.

He tasted good. Raw, manly tastes. Amanda tipped her head to the side, wanting,
needing
to taste still more of him. She groaned when he took advantage of the offer. A growl rumbled in the back of his throat as he deepened the kiss.

Her toes curled, her fists opened. She clung to his shoulders, tightening her grip until her fingers tunneled into his warm flesh and the tightly bunched muscles beneath. But even that wasn't enough. She wanted to feel more.

His neck passed beneath her hands. She buried her fingers in his silky hair, cupping his scalp in her palms and urging him closer. She arched her back, straining toward him.

Jake's response was immediate. His mouth opened over hers. The warm, moist tip of his tongue skated over her lips, teasing the crease that sealed them innocently together.

Amanda had only been kissed twice before. Neither time was like
this.
She didn't even know a man and a woman
could
kiss like this! Was it proper for a man to use his tongue? Was it proper for a
woman?
Did it matter? Proper or not, she wasn't going to demand he stop. This felt too good!

Her lips parted invitingly. His tongue plunged into her mouth, and the kiss turned savage. His strokes were wet and deep and bold. He circled the tip of her tongue, mating with hers in a wild rhythm that made her head spin and her blood boil.

Her timidity didn't last long. Jake was simply too persuasive. In no time she'd joined in the seductive game of thrust and parry, explore and retreat. A shiver bolted through her. Nothing in Amanda's life had prepared her for the first, hesitant feel of her tongue sliding against Jake Chandler's.

Her fingers curled around fistfuls of his silky hair. Her knuckles grazed the thin braid she'd been longing to touch. She touched it now, stroked and fondled it as she arched into him. Her nipples beaded, straining, as though trying to breach the barrier of cloth isolating her flesh from his. In a foggy recess of her mind, Amanda realized she was closer to this man now, physically, than she'd ever been to any man she had ever known.

Jake sensed that, too—and it was for that reason alone he eased away from her. Throughout the kiss, his hands had remained exactly where they'd started; one cupping her chin, the other riding her waist. Except for an occasional twitch, he hadn't allowed them to budge an inch. And for damn good reason! If he moved, he would touch her. If he touched her, just once, he would never
stop
touching her.

He had known—from the instant he'd crushed her mouth beneath his, the instant he'd tasted her sweetness and captured her airy little groan of surrender with his mouth—that it would be like this between them. He hadn't expected that. Then again, he hadn't expected a lot of things. He hadn't expected Amanda Lennox to surrender so quickly. He hadn't expected to
want
her to surrender at all. Mostly, what he hadn't expected was that he would want—really
want—
her so damn badly it hurt.

But he did. He'd wanted Amanda even before they'd kissed. Now, he wanted her with a need that rocked him. His blood still pumped hot. His appetite to possess this woman—this
lady—
this
white
lady!—was one of the few emotions that Jake found he couldn't erase from his mind and pretend didn't exist.

His need for her was hot and strong enough to be a weakness. And weakness of any sort—in others as well as himself—didn't please him. Not at all.

Jake waited until his breathing was almost regular before allowing his hands to move. His fingers curled around Amanda's soft upper arms as he pulled back from her, glancing down.

She glanced up. Her green eyes swam with a confusion of desire and self-derision.

In that instant, Jake knew he had to break the thread he'd just woven between them. He wasn't going to be able to put his desire for her out of his mind—or his body—but he saw no reason
she
had to know that. It would give her a weapon to use over him, a power. He'd be damned if he'd do that.

Amanda felt a sliver of air slip between them. The night felt cold, her body fevered and hot. Her breaths were coming in strangled gulps. Her lips were swollen and slightly bruised, but it wasn't the unpleasant feeling she knew it should be. Quite the opposite; if she'd had her way, she would have tossed away her years of schooling and wantonly molded herself into Jake, begging him to kiss her again. It was a humiliating admission, but it was nonetheless true.

The look in his eyes said that wouldn't be prudent. His gaze was frosty and hard again, his expression carefully blank.

"Gotta say, Miss Lennox, you don't kiss like any society lady I've ever met." The grin he flashed her was boyish enough not to be too dirty. The glint in his eyes... ah, now
that
was dirty as hell. "I respect that in a woman."

"Really?" she panted, her breathing not close to normal yet. Following his lead, she kept her tone neutral. "How many society ladies have you kissed, Mr. Chandler? It must have been quite a few for you to have gained such a vast, working knowledge of us."

"Nope. Sorry to disappoint you, princess, but you're only the second. And the last."

Her golden brows arched. "You sound very sure of yourself."

"I am," he said. Tightening his grip on her, he removed her from the throbbing heat of his lap. Odd, but he felt no relief.

The empty feeling inside Amanda came back in force. She noticed it the second her bottom molded itself to the hard, lumpy ground. Was it a coincidence that the observation was made in the same instant Jake's body no longer touched hers?

That she'd just been cast aside was obvious. Amanda knew she should be annoyed. No, she should be downright furious. She wasn't, and that worried her.

She told herself he'd kissed her only to prove a point, to satisfy his own curiosity. He'd already admitted as much. But the truth of the matter was, there were a number of things a woman could do to thwart a man's unwanted attentions. Amanda had learned quite a few of them. So why hadn't she used a single one? Probably for the same reason Jake had initiated the kiss to begin with; curiosity, and the appeasal thereof.

While Amanda could lie to other people with ease, she couldn't lie to herself. She
had
wondered what it would be like to kiss this man. The fantasies she'd entertained for half the day had been enough to drive a sane woman crazy. She hoped now that their curiosities had been appeased, they could do what Jake had suggested earlier: put it out of their minds for good.

She sent him a sidelong glance. In her opinion, it looked like he'd already done so. Ah, now
that
annoyed her!

"Get some sleep," Jake said as he fished the makings for another cigarette out of the saddle bag close to his hip. "We'll be heading out at the crack of dawn. If you aren't awake when I'm ready to ride, I'll leave without you."

"And go where?"

The fingers deftly rolling the tobacco in paper never missed a beat, though his gaze narrowed. "Where I was heading before you and your cousin detoured me."

"Which is where?" Bending her legs, Amanda rearranged the skirt around her shins and cradled her knees to her chest. They made the perfect shelf to rest her cheek atop. The pain in her ankle wasn't so bad now that her leg wasn't being jostled and now that she had other matters occupying her mind.

Jake's tongue darted out to lick the paper, sealing it.

Amanda shivered, remembering the sharp taste of him on her tongue. Like the man himself, his flavor was unique, something to savor and never forget. She watched him stash the leather pouch holding the tobacco back into his saddlebag. "Which is where?" she repeated as though he hadn't heard her. They both knew he had.

Jake tucked the cigarette into a corner of his mouth and shrugged. "You're a nosy piece of baggage, ain't ya?"

"So I've been told, though never in such... flattering terms. Where are you heading, Mr. Chandler?"

"Nowhere in particular," he said, and scraped a match up the seam of his pants.

Amanda's gaze strayed over his features. She was mesmerized by the way the flare of orange light heightened and defined the rugged planes of his face. He really was handsome, she thought... in an arrogant, untamed sort of way. The observation reminded her of another question she'd wanted, but not dared to ask him. "You aren't really an Indian, are you, Mr. Chandler?"

He drew on the cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs until it burned. It was released in a long, cloudy stream. "Didn't I tell you to get some sleep?"

"Yes. And I will... after you answer my question. Are you or aren't you an Indian?"

"Half. There's your bedroll." He pointed to the rolled up blanket coiled on the grass... on the opposite side of her little fire. Amanda couldn't help noticing he'd positioned it as far away from his as he could get it—yet close enough so they'd both have heat from the fire.

She sighed, and glanced down. Two inches of moonswept grass separated their hips. The span might as well have been a mile.

"Well?" he prodded when she didn't move.

"In a minute." She nuzzled her cheek atop the pillow of her knees. "I may be a woman, Mr. Chandler, but I'm not stupid. I know you're only half Indian. One look at your eyes told me that. What I meant was, you don't
act
like any Indian I've ever read about. You don't dress like one," she remembered his moccasins, the eagle feather tucked into his hatband, the long hair, braid and feather, "for the most part,” she amended, “and you certainly don't talk like one."

Jake clamped the cigarette between his teeth and squinted at her. The glowing tip dangled when he spoke. "But I look like one, mostly, and you want to know why. Is that it?"

"Yes."

Whole minutes slipped past, and still Jake didn't answer. Eventually, Amanda gave up waiting. She had a feeling he wasn't going to discuss it.

The tiredness she'd been fighting seeped back. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her of the supper they'd skipped. She was too tired and sore to get up and rummage through her saddlebag. Stifling a yawn in her throat, her lashes fluttered down. She didn't fall asleep immediately, but instead let the heat of Jake warming her side and the sounds of the night temporarily soothe her. Finding Roger seemed like a world away at the moment.

The sound of the campfire crackling brought a smile to her lips. No matter what sort of trickery Jake had used, she had lit that fire by herself. Amanda was more proud of that than she'd been upon conquering her first embroidery sampler—and that was saying something! Which reminded her...

"Mr. Chandler?" she murmured groggily.

"Hmmm?"

"I owe you a good slap for what you did to me with the matches."

His chuckle was light and airy. It tickled its way down her spine. "Yeah, I expect you do. Tell you what. Slap me tomorrow, princess."

"I will." She half sighed, half yawned. "Remind me if I forget, would you?"

She heard Jake chuckle, but if he ever answered her, his reply fell on deaf ears. A few seconds later she was asleep.

The grass crunched. Even the chirp of birds couldn't mask the sound. Amanda winced, as much from the pain that stabbed up her leg as from the noise, and tried to soften her tread as she crept around the ashy remains of the campfire.

Her gaze swept the clearing, which was touched by the pink fingers of approaching daybreak. A chilly breeze rustled the carpet of grass, the branches of pine trees. Other than that, everything was still. Things were as they should be. Nothing was disturbed. Nothing looked or sounded out of place.

Amanda wasn't fooled. While the shadows were deceiving, the uneasiness that iced down her spine was not. The curls at the nape of her neck prickled—the wispy gold strands felt alive with the current of unseen eyes, eyes that were watching her every move. It was a disturbing feeling.

Goosebumps dotted her arms. She rubbed them away, more sure than ever that she and Jake were not alone. If instinct didn't prove it, the sound of a twig snapping did.

Her fingers grazed the pocket of her skirt, but the bulge of metal tucked inside brought little comfort. She had fished the antique pistol out of her saddlebag when she'd first been jarred awake. It wasn't loaded; she had no bullets. If anyone
was
out there, she'd hoped just the sight of a gun would scare whoever it was away.