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...
Jake hesitated making that last advance toward her, knowing that to do so would be to lose himself in something wonderful, something deliciously tempting, something that, by all rights, he should never have tasted once, let alone again.
Amanda had no such qualms. She wanted to experience again the magic of his kisses, the warmth of his caresses. She needed both. Maybe proper ladies didn't have needs like these, maybe they didn't enjoy a man the way she enjoyed Jake. But that was beside the point. Because Amanda was acutely aware that whenever Jake Chandler touched her, she ceased to be a lady. With one glance, he stripped away pretense. With one kiss, he peeled away years of training and ignited a flame of passion inside her.
She wanted to feel that reckless surge of passion again. Now. She needed to feel it pumping through her blood. Only once the fire had been lit and tended did she want Jake to douse it in the way that only he could.
To that end, her hands snuck around his back, under his arms. Her fingers fisted his shirt, and her gaze sought out his as she lifted her head up and very slowly, very lightly, fused their mouths together.
"Again and again," she whispered huskily against his mouth. She dragged her tongue over his tightly set lips. He tasted of tobacco and coffee; a strong, delicious male flavor—one to be cherished and savored. "For as long as it lasts, Jake. That's all I want, all I'll ask from you."
"Good. Because that's all I have to give you," he said, and then his tongue darted out and swirled around the wet tip of hers, teasing them both to distraction. She tasted moist and sweet and so damn good. He groaned as, lowering more of his weight atop her, he sealed their lips in a hard, hungry kiss.
He'd dreamed of this, in the few minutes of sleep that thoughts of Amanda had allowed him to snatch. He'd dreamed of her taste, of how her soft white curves felt beneath him. The dreams—wisps of veiled fantasies and suppressed memories—had gotten him hard and hot. That was what had brought him out of the barn and into a house he'd sworn never to step foot in again. That was what had made him swallow his pride and seek her out tonight. He couldn't stay away from her, couldn't deny this unreasonably strong urge to see and touch and lay with her again. He wanted to know if it would be as good with her a second time, or if good had only been in his imagination.
It hadn't been. His imagination could never conjure up the way this woman felt moving hungrily beneath him, or the way her s
weet, distracting tongue met his every thrust and parry. Their mouths clung, their tongues initiated a rhythmic dance that their bodies, straining against each other, begged to follow. Her hips rose, strained into his, retreated, then lifted again. The feminine heat of her meshed with his hard male strength, making the core of his need swell.
He'd had this woman once, barely six hours ago. He shouldn't want her again so soon, and he definitely shouldn't want her again so badly. But he did. There was no rhyme or reason to it, no obstacles or barriers. There was no logic in the way he wanted to plant himself inside of Amanda Lennox so badly it was an acute, physical pain inside of him, a deep, festering, intolerable need.
He eased the intimacy of their kiss, but not the intimacy of their embrace. His lips trailed hot, sipping kisses down her chin and the thin white taper of her neck. He shifted them so that he was now the one laying atop the table. Amanda lay sprawled atop him, her bent knees straddling his hips, her hands splayed on the chipped wood that lay to either side of his head. She arched her neck to give his mouth freedom to roam.
Jake's tongue caressed the pulse drumming wildly in the base of her throat. He reached down and tugged her skirt up and out of the way. And then he lifted his own bent knee as high as it would go. He ground his thigh against the warm, moist part of her that his body was urging him to reexplore. A part that—soon, Jake silently promised them both—would be reexplored. Thoroughly.
Amanda gasped and her hips arched forward. The feel of Jake's denim-encased thigh rubbing the most sensitive, most intimate part of her was electrifying. White heat flamed through her blood, leaving a tingling wake of fire.
Her body went weak. The energy drained out of her arms, and she lowered herself onto the hard cushion of his chest. Though her lips nuzzled his neck and ear, her hips remained cautiously still. She was afraid to move a muscle, afraid feelings that good could not be contained. And she wanted to contain them. Forever. She wanted the sensations this man was lighting in her to go on and on and on.
Jake had other ideas. He'd lit the fire in her, ignited her fiery passions, now he wanted to drive her wild with it.
His strong hands flanked her hips, his fingers curling inward, tunneling through the bunches of material, tunneling into the soft white flesh beneath. Slowly, slowly, he guided her hips forward, dragging her up his thigh. Her body quivered violently. He absorbed the vibrations with his palms and chest, even as he guided her in the opposite direction. Again. And again.
It was a gentle parody of lovemaking that was, he discovered belatedly, double edged. As much as the erotic sensations were a sensuous torture to her, they were more so to him. Every time she slid forward, the top of her thigh rubbed against the burning heat of him. The rhythmic friction filled him with new, blinding surges of desire.
"God, did I teach you this?" he murmured huskily.
"Oh yes," she answered, just as rawly. Her hips picked up the pace his hands had set. "Don't you remember? You taught me how to light a fire, showed me how to make it burn."
"Damn. I did, didn't I?" he grumbled, and thought that if this sweet, stimulating torture kept up, he wouldn't last. And he intended to last if it killed him.
He thought it might do just that.
Jake didn't know why the urge to roll her onto her back and take her right now, hard and fast, was so damn overpowering—it just was. God, had he ever been this weak with a woman in his life? No. But then, this wasn't just any woman, this was Amanda Lennox. He should have learned by now that he had no self-control when it came to her. He should have learned that, with her, the desire to give pleasure was as strong, if not stronger, than the desire to get it.
She was hot. He knew by the way she writhed against him, the way her heart pounded a wild, desperate beat against his. He wanted her hotter, burning up; he wanted her body humming with a desperation that surpassed his own.
His fingers tightened around her hips, halting her. Then they strayed up to cup her ribcage as he lowered his leg. His face was buried in her neck. He nuzzled the silky flesh there before carefully levering her up and away from him.
Her eyes had been closed. The thick, honey-tipped lashes flickered up, revealing glassy eyes that struggled to bring him into focus. "Why did you stop?" she asked, her tone raw and passion-slurred.
His grin was wicked and quick, his gaze darkly seductive. "We can't do much with our clothes on, princess."
One golden brow lifted, and the way her huge green eyes shimmered in the flickering firelight told Jake that she was thinking of at least a dozen mutually satisfying things that could be done completely clothed. The pink stain in her cheeks, and the way she rolled her lips inward, said her thoughts were decidedly unladylike.
That was fine by Jake; his own thoughts were dirty as hell.
"I want you naked," he rasped, and pushed her up until she knelt, straddling his hips. His gaze dropped to the swell of her breasts, and his mind flashed an excruciatingly detailed picture of what she looked like without the barrier of clothes separating her creamy white flesh from his devouring gaze. It was a sight he'd give his life to see again. Now. His attention lifted, his gaze meshed with hers. "Undress for me, princess. Slowly. And do it in front of the fire so I can see all of you, inch by beautiful inch."
Her chin dipped, but not before he saw the way her cheeks flamed. "That wouldn't be..." she shrugged nervously, and wet her suddenly parched lips, "proper."
"Or ladylike," he agreed flatly.
"Jake, what if Gail or Little Bear comes downstairs?"
"They won't."
"How do you know?"
"I know," He said it with such conviction that Amanda instinctively believed him.
Though she didn't lift her head, she did peek at him. His hair was wind-tangled, spread out on the table around him. The small brown feather rested against his chest, lifting and falling with his ragged breaths. His features were hard with leashed desire. His steely eyes seemed to burn out of the chiseled copper of his face. His expression said he wanted, needed, for her to strip for him, and—propriety be damned—she wanted to do it.
"If I... do," Amanda said as, pushing against his chest, she rose shakily to her feet and looked down at him uncertainly, "will you return the favor? Slowly. So that, piece by piece, I can see every beautiful inch of you?"
A spark of desire heated his eyes. "Do you want me to?"
"Yes."
"Then I will." He rose up on one elbow and, bending his knees so his feet were flat on the tabletop, nodded to the fire. "Do it. Take off your clothes for me. And only for me."
She nodded and slowly, hesitantly, walked over to the fire. A log split and fell. The hiss of crackling flames sounded loud in the ensuing silence; it masked the swish of her skirt as she turned to face him.
The heat emanating from the hearth was intense. It seeped through Amanda's clothes, warming her back, her bottom, the back of her thighs. The warmth was nothing compared to the heat in Jake's eyes. The way his gaze fired over her front was indecent, naughty, and exciting beyond reason.
Her trembling fingers paused on the top button of her collar. Amanda felt awkward, uncomfortable. She'd never taken off her clothes for another human being in her life. She was doing so now though, willingly, and she had a desperate need to do it right. She prayed her movements would look seductive and enticing, not trembling and schoolgirl clumsy.
With that in mind, she forced herself to stop shaking. She slipped the first button free. Then the second, the third, the fourth. She sent a quick look at the shadowy stairway, but the memory of Jake's words oddly reassured her that they wouldn't be interrupted. She didn't know why she believed him about that, she just did. By concentrating on what she was doing, not why, Amanda managed to work the buttons free down to her waist.
She parted the material wide, then pushed the sleeves down her arms. The bodice bunched around her waist in soft calico folds which she then pushed lower. With an unconsciously provocative swivel of her hips, the dress went shimmying o
ver her thighs and puddled in a heap around her feet.
It was as she stepped out of the circle of material and was in the act of bending to retrieve it, that she heard Jake's throaty moan. A secretive grin turned her lips as she tossed her clothing aside, then let her fingers stray to the laces of her chemise—the ones Jake had severed hours ago.
Jake wasn't looking at the neckline. He was only indirectly looking at the chemise. Through it would have been a better description. His gaze was fixed on the long, shapely legs that the rear-light of the fire outlined beneath the thin white linen. This morning he'd wanted this woman so badly he hadn't taken the time to visually appreciate her. He took the time now.
Tossing and turning on the barn's cold, hard ground, he'd thought time and again of what Amanda looked like naked. He hadn't remembered this much perfection; hadn't remembered how full her breasts were until he saw them straining against the confining linen; hadn't remembered how narrow her waist, how long and tempting her legs, until he saw them silhouetted beneath her chemise. He had remembered how much he'd wanted her, but his memory paled in comparison to how much he wanted her now.
"Come here," he growled, his voice ragged and sharp. He extended his free hand to her, and his eyes narrowed when Amanda shook her head.
"It's your turn, Jake," she whispered softly. As she spoke, Amanda slid the sleeves of her chemise leisurely down her arms. Clutching the bodice to her breasts, she rolled her shoulders back and forth, one by one working her arms out. Holding Jake's gaze, she let the swathing of linen drop away. The chemise didn't have to be coaxed over her hips. Unlike the dress, the undergarment was fully cut; it slipped down the length of her body with a gentle nudge and an enticingly whispery rustle of cloth.
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