Montana Wildfire (34 page)

Amanda tried telling herself that if Jake was cold and hungry, he had no one to blame but himself, as she kicked the blankets off and pushed to her feet. She told herself he was a grown man who was more than capable of taking care of himself, as she crossed the room, grabbed the cloak that hung drying on a peg by the back door, flung it over her shoulders and tied it hastily in place. She told herself that Jake was perfectly capable of lighting his own fire—God knows, he'd proven
that
point quite well!—and that he didn't need her to goad him into it, as she reached out, her fingers poised and trembling on the cold metal door latch.

Finally, she told herself that what she was doing was wrong, that if she went to him now, she wouldn't respect herself for it come morning. What followed was a stern mental lecture on why self-respect had become so important to her, and why she would be a fool to sacrifice it over a man who clearly didn't want or need her as badly as she wanted and needed him.

Her hand flexed, fisted, then dropped limply to her side. Leaning forward on the balls of her feet, she rested her forehead against the cold, rough door, and sucked in several deep breaths.

Last, Amanda told herself that she would be a fool to fall in love with a man like Jacob Blackhawk Chandler. He had scars etched into his soul that she could never understand; scars that ran deep, that hadn't healed, that might
never
heal enough for him to love her back. Caring for a man like that would only bring her trouble. Not having her feelings returned would give her more heartache than she could endure.

"Ah, Jake," Amanda sighed to the silent, empty room. She pushed wearily away from the door and started to turn, but was brought up short when the silent, empty room responded in a soft, familiar drawl that curled like sun-warm honey down her spine.

"Yes, Amanda?"

Had thoughts of Jake conjured up his voice? Had she wanted to see and hear and touch him so badly that her mind sought to soothe her by making her
imagine
he was standing behind her? And did she want to turn around only to find he wasn't there, his voice a figment of her wishful imagination? God, no!

"Jake?" she asked hesitantly, hopefully.

"Amanda."

The soft, feathery touch on her shoulder was
not
her imagination. Her imagination wasn't that good. No, the feel of his hand was too warm, too vibrant to be anything but real.

Her heart skipped as she turned her head, her gaze fixing on the masculine fingers hooked over her shoulder. Slowly, she traced his thick wrist to where the smooth copper flesh dipped beneath the cuff of his sleeve. Her gaze ran over the muscled forearm outlined beneath the clinging blue flannel, stopping only once she'd reached his enticingly familiar shoulder and the inky hair resting against it.

Amanda inhaled deeply. Her eyes flickered closed as she savored the warm, earth-spice scent that belonged to Jake Chandler alone. On its release, she said softly, "I was just coming to see you."

"I know."

She hadn't heard him move, though he must have, because she suddenly felt the raw male heat of him seeping through her cloak, her bodice, her chemise. His warmth caressed her skin, and Amanda shivered. Though she couldn't see where he stood, she could
feel
it; if she turned fully around, her gaze would know exactly where to go to seek his out.

"I've been watching you," he said, and his next step put his chest into sizzling contact with her back. "I know what you were doing, what you've been thinking."

"No, you couldn't possibly," she said, and meant it. Jake couldn't know what she was thinking. He fancied her a lady, and ladies did
not
entertain the hot, lustful thoughts that had been churning in Amanda's mind tonight.

His fingers tightened on her shoulder. "Do you doubt me, princess?"

"I—no, I don't. If you say you know my thoughts, I—I believe you."

"But do you believe
in
me, Amanda Lennox? That's the real question."

Amanda swallowed hard, and leaned back against him. Jake's left arm coiled about her waist. He hauled her close, pinning her against his chest. She let his long, solid body hold her upright, because she could no longer do it herself.

Jake was here. She could feel his heart drumming a frantic tempo against her shoulder blades. He'd come to her, come
for
her. What was there not to believe in?

"Yes, Jake, I—"

The words trapped in her throat when, without warning, he spun her around. Her skirt whipped around her ankles, and his hands settled on her shoulders. He held her at arm's length when she would have sagged against him, molded herself into him.

"I told you once I'd know if you lied to me," he said, his tone low, strained. "Do you remember that?"

She nodded weakly.

"Good. Now look me in the eye, Amanda. I need to see your face when you tell me whether or not you believe in me."

She didn't,
couldn't.
One of his hands came away from her shoulder. The warm, calloused crook of his index finger settled beneath her chin, gently tipping her face up.

Her gaze had settled on his throat and the pulse leaping erratically beneath the copper skin there. Her attention slowly lifted, sweeping over his square jaw, his sensuously carved lips, his high-bridged nose. Swallowing hard, she met his gaze.

The firelight cast half of his face in a soft orange glow. The other half was in shadows—chiseled and sharp. The muscle in his cheek was pulsating. Amanda had expected that. What she hadn't expected was the light of desperation she saw sparkling in his smoky silver eyes. That stunned her.

"Tell me," he urged. "Tell me you believe in me, princess... more than I believe in myself."

She nodded as, quite simply and softly, she said the words his eyes said he ached to hear. In her heart, she knew she had never spoken truer words in her life. "I do, Jake. I believe in the man you are, in the man I know you can be. I always have."

His lashes flickered down for one moment of mingled pain and pleasure. Then the black fringe swept up, and Amanda was captured by eyes that were dark with a gratitude that tore her up inside... and with a desire that set her blood on fire.

Gently, he cupped her face in his palms and pulled her face close to his. Leaning his body into hers, he rested their foreheads together. His breath puffed hotly over her cheeks and chin. His gaze burning into hers, he rasped, "There's something about you, Amanda Lennox. I don't know what it is, but it draws me. I can't stay away. I know I should. I know it would be better for us both if I did. Safer. But... ah, God, I can't do it."

"I don't want you to stay away from me, Jake."

His lashes were at half-mast, hooding the smokey gaze that burned over her mouth. His attention locked with hers, as though the deep green velvet of her eyes was his lifeline. "Don't say that. Don't even
think
it. Can't you see? I'm no good for you, lady."

"Let me be the judge of that."

His forehead ground against hers when he shook his head. "No. You aren't objective enough to know what's best for you."

Her gaze narrowed. "Oh, I see. And I suppose you are?"

Jake hesitated, then shook his head again. "No. When it comes to you, I'm not objective at all. I'm here now, aren't I? That should prove something to you."

And it did. In fact, it proved a great deal. It proved that whatever had happened between Jake and his sister, it wasn't drastic enough to overshadow what was happening between Jake and herself. It proved that he had swallowed a smidgen of that over-inflated, misplaced pride of his, enough at least to seek her out here, in his sister's house, where he obviously was not welcome. And it proved...

Amanda's gaze widened, searching his face. His expression was still tight, still strained, but his features were no longer a mask to her. Had Jake let his guard down on purpose so that she could see and read his expression? Or did she simply know him well enough now to look beyond the mask? It was difficult to say. Nor did she waste time analyzing it. It was enough to see in his eyes that he cared for her. Maybe not a lot, but a bit. It was enough for her to see that his desire for her had not been doused—as she'd feared—but whetted and aroused.

And that, Amanda decided as her own expression softened, was a good start. No one in her life had ever really cared for her. That this man did—even a little, even reluctantly—gave her something to reach for, something to cling to.

The hands she'd pillowed atop his shoulders strayed upward. She sandwiched his neck between her palms, admiring the strength she felt in a portion of his body where one would not ordinarily expect to find strength. Her hands shifted, her fingers tunneling into silky black hair that was still damp from a sprinkling of melted snow. His skin felt smooth and warm and moist beneath her palms. The scar puckering the back of his neck felt distinct when it brushed her sensitive inner wrist.

"I lied to you, princess." Jake's fingers snaked around her wrist, and tugged her hand down, satisfied only when it splayed the center of his chest. His heart throbbed a wild, erratic beat against her open palm.

"How, Jake? How did you lie to me?
Why
did you lie to me?"

"I said you weren't a lady, but you
are.
You're more of a lady than any woman I've ever known. And no, I don't know why I said it."

Their gazes locked and held. His eyes were dark and serious and sincere. Amanda's free hand was cupping his scalp. She moved it slowly to the opposite side of his neck. With the tip of her index finger she traced the jagged scar down to where it dipped beneath his collar.

He let go of her wrist and settled his hand on her shoulder. His other slipped beneath the cloak, circled her waist, and pulled her closer. Not too close, yet, but close enough for the front of their bodies to threaten contact.

"Do you want me, Jake?" Amanda asked softly, breathlessly. It wasn't a question she'd planned to ask, but now that she had, she waited breathlessly for his answer. When it didn't come immediately, she grew impatient. "Please, I need to know."

Jake saw the desperation in her eyes and knew the emotion was mirrored in his own. He knew that admitting to the desire that was clawing him up inside would be a mistake. It would give Amanda Lennox power over him, more power than any woman had ever had. And yet lying seemed an even bigger mistake. There was an odd sort of honesty crackling between them right now. It felt too new and fragile and... dammit, it just felt too damn good to tamper with!

"I... God, lady, how I want you!" His gaze strayed to her mouth—temptingly full, naturally pink—and his tongue curled in sweet anticipation. "I want you..." He scanned her neck quickly, and then his attention settled on the firm swell of her breasts. They were rising and falling quickly, with each of her rapid, ragged breaths. His heart beat faster. "I want you..." The fingers gripping her shoulder flexed as he scanned the appealing roundness of her hips, then slowly followed the same tantalizing course back up. He locked their gazes together and whispered huskily, "I want you more than I want to breathe. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes."

"And is 'wanting' enough for you?"

Amanda's gaze lowered with sudden timidity. "It shouldn't be. A decent woman would want more."

"A decent woman would demand marriage. A decent woman would demand things I can't—
won't—
give. Then again, a decent woman wouldn't be here with me now, would she? Are you a decent woman, Amanda Lennox? Are you going to demand those things from me?"

Amanda frowned, knowing she
should
demand all that and more. She also knew she wouldn't. If she did, Jake would leave her now, and maybe never come back again. While her mind might not be able to tell right from wrong anymore, her body was telling her, and telling her strongly, not to let this man go, to take what he could give and never demand more. At the moment, her body was stronger than her mind and morals.

"I demand two things from you, Jacob Blackhawk Chandler," she said finally, her gaze riveted on the damp toes of his moccasins. "I demand you finish the job I hired you to do. And I..." She swallowed hard. "I demand you love me for as long as you feel you can. Is that asking too much?"

"No, princess, it's asking for a hell of a lot less than you deserve." It was also, Jake knew, asking for all a man like him could ever hope to give a woman like her. Loving Amanda Lennox for a time, he could do. Loving her for
all
time... well, that wasn't allowed. That was against the rules.

The arm around her waist tightened, and he closed the scant few inches that separated them. Her cheek found a natural pillow against his shoulder. Her soft curves molded eagerly into his hardness, lighting a fire in Jake's blood wherever they touched. The scent clinging to her hair was soft and flowery in his nostrils, the smell fresh and intoxicating. He turned his head, his nose nuzzling the golden strands, breathing her in deeply.

Amanda's arms circled his neck, pulling him closer even as her body strained against him. He couldn't give her much, but he could give her this moment, this one night. If only for a little while, he could fill the yawning emptiness inside of her.

"Love me, Jake," she whispered hoarsely, her lips moving against the soft flannel of his shirt. Her hips arched, and electricity sizzled through her blood when her abdomen ground against the firm evidence of his desire. "Please, just for tonight, love me as though you mean it."

"Ah, God, yes." Holding her close, he maneuvered her back a few steps.

The edge of the table pressed against the back of Amanda's thighs. And then Jake was there, easing her backward, and she went mindlessly.

He leveled his weight on the elbows flanking her ribs, and met her hip to hip, chest to chest. Her feet didn't touch the floor; it was easy to nudge her legs apart, to wedge himself between her long, firm legs. He turned his head, and saw that their lips were mere inches apart. A slight lifting of her head, a slight lowering of his...