She wouldn't have respected herself, plain and simple. That was the only reason she'd thrown Edward Bannister's money back at him. Well, all right, maybe there was one more reason, but she didn't want to think about that. In fact, she'd gone out of her way to keep her mind clear of those traitorous thoughts for the last five days. She wasn't about to start thinking about them—about him—now.
The money. She would think about the money—or lack thereof—because anything was safer than thinking about...
Jake.
The name arrowed through her and stabbed straight through her heart. A bolt of pain cut through her, hot and sharp and jarring. In five days, the intensity hadn't lessened a bit. If anything, the empty ache inside of her had grown; it was more acute, more consuming than ever.
Five days, Amanda thought as she sat back heavily, breathlessly against the tree. Was that all the time that had elapsed? Just five days? It felt like a year—the longest, loneliest year of her life!
She didn't realize she was trembling until she felt her fingertips vibrate against the empty tin can. Even with the fire blazing, she felt cold. Icy chills washed through her from the inside out.
And empty. She felt so frightfully empty. She—
"The can, princess. You forgot to bury the can."
A shaky smile tugged at Amanda's lips as she glanced down at the can. She remembered Jake telling her to bury waste so that animals wouldn't be drawn to the scent during the night. Normally, she did. Tonight she'd been so tired and confused and lonely that she'd almost forgotten to...
Her smile evaporated. The hairs at her nape prickled, and the skin there heated as though it had been scorched by an invisible flame. Awareness shot down her spine.
She stiffened, instantly alert. The snap of a twig brought her to her feet. She fumbled inside the pocket of her skirt, her trembling fingers searching frantically for the pistol she was rarely without. Though her narrowed gaze scanned the ring of firelight, she saw nothing out of the ordinary.
Scowling, Amanda wondered if perhaps she wasn't losing her mind. These last few months had been traumatic, to say the least... it was possible. Maybe the voice she thought she'd heard—Jake's voice?—was a figment of her imagination. A product of wishful thinking?
"It sounded real," Amanda muttered under her breath, "but obviously it wasn't."
She waited a few more minutes—gun in hand, her body tense and alert-but heard nothing unusual. While she scanned the clearing a couple of dozen times, she saw nothing unusual either.
While her heartbeat steadied itself, her breathing remained harsh and erratic. She was no longer tired. The surge of adrenaline that fright had dumped into her bloodstream served to burn away fatigue. Right now she felt restless and... dirty.
She hadn't taken a bath last night because she hadn't camped near water. Tonight, she could hear the gurgle of the narrow creek where she'd tethered her mare a mere one hundred feet away. The crisp, cool water beckoned.
Five minutes later, after a thorough search, Amanda had assured herself that she was indeed alone. Five minutes after that, she was sponging herself off in the icy mountain creek.
The cold water made her gasp, and made goosebumps prickle on her arms and legs. Amanda didn't care. Being clean felt too wonderful, too rare. She quickly lathered and rinsed twice, then washed her hair, scrubbing viciously with her fingertips until her scalp tingled and the thick golden mass felt squeaky clean.
It wasn't until Amanda had toweled her hair semi-dry, and was in the process of heading up the bank wearing her only clean chemise—and clutching her clean, damp clothes to her chest for warmth—that she felt another prick of awareness at her nape.
Her shiver had nothing to do with the cold. It had everything to do with the shadowy line of trees her attention fixed upon. A twig snapped, and she blinked hard when she saw one of the shadows separate itself from the others. It was wide, that shadow, and shaped like a man. Her breath caught when the shadow took a step forward.
Jake, she thought, then instantly dismissed the idea. If Jake was going to come after her, he would have done it days ago. Besides, there was something about this shape—she wasn't sure exactly what—that didn't look quite right. Something that told her this man was not Jake Chandler.
Amanda dropped the pile of freshly washed clothes, barely noticing when they scattered over the ground at her feet. This time, she found the pistol in record time. She coaxed the hammer back with her thumb; the metallic sound of revolving chambers was loud and grating.
Did the intruder see how badly she was shaking? Could he hear the wild pounding of her heart, the ragged give and take of her breathing? Despite the brisk air and her recent bath, Amanda felt a bead of perspiration trickle between her breasts.
"You can come out now," she called, and was surprised that her voice gave away none of her anxiety. "The show's over."
A sense of déjà vu tingled down Amanda's spine when she heard grass crunch beneath boot heels, and saw the shadow take another step forward.
A sliver of moonlight glinted off raven black hair. A pair of light-colored eyes burned out of the shadows, burned into her. It might have been her imagination, but she could have sworn she heard a husky chuckle blend with the normal night noises. And then all she could hear was the clatter of her heart, and the voice that shot out of the darkness; the tone husky, thick... oh, so wonderfully familiar!
"Pity. That was one hell of a show, princess."
Amanda fumbled the gun. It fell onto the pile of damp clothes with a muffled thump. She didn't notice. Couldn't. Her concentration was fixed on the way that voice wrapped around her like a scrap of sun-warmed velvet. "Jake?"
"Uh-huh. Expecting someone else?"
"No. No, of course not. I-I wasn't expecting you."
"I can see that." That, and a hell of a lot more than Jake thought his sanity could bear to see right now. For example, he could see the pale white chemise; the garment fell from her shoulders to her ankles in inviting white folds that looked like a splash of vibrant color against the night. And—he swallowed hard—beneath the nearly transparent linen he could see the dusky rose tips of her...
"What are you doing here, Jake?"
Her voice jarred his attention back to her face. Good thing, too! He'd been half a second away from stalking the space between them and hauling the woman roughly into his arms, whether she wanted to be there or not. That wasn't a good idea. Not yet, anyway. He was clinging to the shadows for a reason, wanting to give her only one shock at a time.
"Jake?" Amanda asked when he said nothing, but continued to stand there staring at her. Even through space and darkness, she could see the veiled hunger in his eyes. Well, all right, maybe she couldn't see it exactly, but she could feel it. Just as she could feel her own molten response. The irony of it was, Jake wasn't even all that close to her. He certainly wasn't as close as she would have liked for him to be!
"What am I doing here?" Jake repeated the question flatly and took another step forward, but not enough to reveal himself to her. "Why, I'm taking you up on your challenge, lady. It's about time you learned that you can't bruise a man's ego the way you bruised mine, then expect to turn and walk away from him. Maybe the pansies you knew back East would put up with that... but I won't."
His words were huskily spoken, filled with a raw, sensuous promise. They rolled over Amanda in a wave of acute, sexual heat, reminding her of how very long it had been since he'd held her, touched her, loved her. If the time came, could she deny him? Deny herself? "So, you've come to prove you're man enough for me? Is that it?"
"Yeah, something like that." His gaze glinted out of the darkness, raking her from head to toe. He missed nothing. Not the way the moonlight glinted off her long, damp hair, not the way the thin chemise hid so little of her charms. Nothing. "Come here, Amanda."
Amanda sucked in a sharp breath. She wanted to—Lord, how she wanted to!—but she couldn't. Her pride wouldn't let her. She'd told Jake once that she loved him, and
she still hadn't gotten over the humiliation of his silence. She simply could not open herself up to that sort of pain again. It hurt too much.
"Dammit, Amanda, come here!"
"No!" She shook her head and forced herself to take a step backward. It wasn't easy. Despite the cold night air, every nerve in her body was on fire with his nearness, with the promise of his touch. Ignoring the needs of her body in favor of the needs of her mind was the hardest thing she'd ever done.
"Don't make me hunt you down, princess."
Amanda knew he was losing what little patience he'd had with her. Still, she took another step back. Her body tensed, preparing to run fast and far if it came to that. "I don't want you to touch me, Jake. I don't ever want you to touch me again."
"Why? I thought you liked it when I put my hands on you."
"You thought wrong." And he did. Because she didn't like it... she loved it. However, she wasn't about to tell him that. Her shredded dignity wouldn't allow it.
His voice lowered a dangerous pitch. "Careful, princess. You keep pushing me, and I'll be more than happy to come over there and prove just how big a liar you are."
Oh, that hurt! It had been weeks since she'd lied to him, and he knew it! "Why you conceited, no-good, miserable... bastard! How dare you—?"
"Shut up, Amanda." Jake took a step toward her. Another. "I didn't come here to fight with you."
"No? Then what did you come for?"
"This," he growled, and as soon as he was within reach, he grabbed her.
Amanda didn't realize how close he was until she felt his fingers manacle her upper arms. With a flick of his wrist, Jake hauled her up hard against his chest. The air rushed from her mouth... and was swallowed up by his.
With a growl, his lips crashed down on hers. The kiss was long, hard, raw. Hungry and demanding. Amanda didn't want to flower open for him, Jake could feel her reluctance, but in the end she did. Nor did he want to need to taste her so damn badly, but he did.
His tongue stroked her, plundered and mated with hers until he felt her fingers, fisting his shirt, loosen, open, and caress. He caught her whimper with his mouth, and a shudder racked his body when he felt her melt into him.
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, anything, 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 G
od 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.
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