"Come here, Amanda," Jake ordered again, his tone harsher, more ragged. When he extended his hand to her this time, she saw that his fingers were shaking. "Please."
She stepped out of the circle of wrinkled linen and, her shoulders square, her chin tipped proudly, walked over to him. "It's your turn," she repeated breathlessly. "Undress for me, Jake. And only for me."
He did. Like a sleek cat, he uncoiled himself and climbed off the table. He didn't move to the fire, and Amanda thought better of complaining about that. He removed the knives he kept tucked in the cuff of each moccasin, the long, fat blade and sheath attached to his belt. Each in turn were carefully, almost lovingly set aside.
Slowly, he freed the buttons on his shirt, then slipped the flannel sleeves down his arms. When he was free of it, he tossed it impatiently aside. He unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his trousers, then worked the coarse denim down his hips, over his heavily muscled thighs. Lower. Removing the moccasins took a more conscious effort.
Amanda's gaze devoured him greedily. She'd glimpsed the perfection of his body before, but it still amazed her. He was all copper skin and muscle. His chest was wide and firm and smooth, tapering down into a tight stomach and lean hips. Jet-black curls arrowed beneath his navel, drawing her gaze downward.
She started to look away, then decided that if she could strip for this man, and he could strip for her, then it stood to reason that looking at him shouldn't bother her. Her gaze strayed to the part of him that she'd been too fearful to look at this morning. Of its own accord, her hand moved. "Jake?" she asked, poised in the act of touching the part of a man's body a lady was taught at an early age she must never think about, let alone touch.
He reached out and coiled his fingers around her wrist, urging her closer, even as his hips thrust out to meet her. "I want you to touch me. I need for you to touch me."
"But—"
"Jesus, princess, don't start acting like a lady on me now! Touch me, dammit!"
She touched him. Softly. A hesitant stroke with the back of her knuckles. She marveled at his length and firmness, then touched him more boldly. Her fingers opened, wrapping around him, fisting him tightly, but not too tightly.
If he didn't know for a fact this woman had been a virgin when she woke up this morning, he would have sworn she was more experienced than she let on. She knew just how to move, just when to tighten, when to relax. She knew how to stroke and caress him until he burned. She knew when to hesitate until his body convulsed and demanded she continue or he would go insane.
His hands were on her shoulders, his fingers digging into her tender flesh. His control was shot, plain and simple. It was no longer a question of whether or not he would have her—they both knew he would—it was a question of how long he could hold out before he lost all control. It wouldn't be long. The pulse pounding in his ears, throbbing through the rest of him, told Jake he couldn't hold back long.
With more gentleness than he thought himself capable of, he laid her back on the table. Her hand fell away and she gripped the side of the table when his knee nudged her legs apart. She opened to him willingly, and he found the hot, moist place—his place—between her thighs. With one insistent thrust, he buried himself inside of her, as deeply as he could go.
The sensation he'd forgotten, that of coming home, hummed through his body, consumed his thoughts, and honed his awareness to an acute pitch. He rocked against her, rocked into her. Her legs lifted, wrapping around his hips as she moved with him.
"Ah, Jake," she sighed raggedly, her hot breath blasting against the side of his neck. "Please, just for tonight, love me like no one else ever has. Like no one else ever will."
"Yes, princess. Oh, God... yes!"
He plunged into her, withdrew, and plunged again. Deeply. Their position—her on the table, him on the floor—was perfect; it gave him optimum penetration. Her legs tightened around him. He could feel her breasts crushed beneath his chest. Her nipples burned into his skin, branding him, as he felt her body squeezing around him, wringing a quicker response than he wanted to give.
Jake's blood was pounding. His body demanded immediate release. Somehow, he didn't know how, he held back, wanting, needing to carry her up with him. His head turned, his lips sought hers in a grinding kiss. Their mouths ate at each other, demanding and receiving in kind.
She met him thrust for thrust, the tightness of her legs urging him on, urging him deeper. The fingers splayed over his back flexed, then tightened, as her nails clawed his skin. He swallowed her groan and felt her delicious, delicate shivers tremble up his length, milking him, snatching him further and further away from reality, while at the same time plunging him head first toward all-consuming pleasure.
It started as a small, undeniable spark in the middle of his gut. His body tightened, fighting it, wanting to prolong the sweet, torturous sensations, yet unable to. Fire burned in his blood, clouding logic, clouding any thought.
Amanda twisted beneath him as his tongue thrust into her mouth, picking up the rhythm his body had already set.
The first spasms tore through Jake's body like a knife. He couldn't fight it, no longer wanted to. The feel of her rippling around him, the sound of her raw, husky cry of satisfaction, loud in his ear, shattered Jake's world. With a low, throaty moan that might have been her name on his lips—or, quite possibly, words he would rather not have spoken—he spilled his hot, liquid fire into her.
He collapsed atop her, panting and spent. His nose nuzzled the warm hollow between her shoulder and throat. A contented sigh whispered past his lips, and his eyes drifted shut.
It wasn't until Amanda squirmed beneath him that Jake realized his weight was crushing her. With a mumbled apology, he reluctantly withdrew from the warmest, tightest place he'd ever known. He left her only long enough to fetch one of the blankets. Then he spread himself against her side and tossed the scratchy-feeling covering over them both. His arm automatically slipped beneath, scooping her close.
I want you more than I want to breathe, lady.
The huskily uttered words swirled in Amanda's mind. A slow, satisfied grin tugged at her lips as she snuggled her cheek atop the hard pillow of Jake's chest, her ears attuned to the lulling beat of his heart drumming in her ear. The heat of the fire in the hearth, combined with the lingering heat of passion, warmed her sated flesh.
"Jake?" Amanda murmured, stifling a yawn with her list.
"Hmmm?"
"How long will this last? How long will you want me the way you wanted me tonight?"
Forever, princess. I'll want to be hot and full inside of you forever. Maybe longer.
The words, boldly honest and sincere, stabbed through Jake like a knife. They paused on the very tip of his tongue, begging to be said, and it took more than a little concentration for him to swallow them back. Thinking up a safer, lighter answer wasn't easy at the moment, considering the position of their bodies, but his sense of self-preservation insisted. "How long do you want me to want you, princess?"
"Forever," she answered sleepily, on what sounded like an airy sigh, but might in reality have been another stifled yawn. "I want to feel this good forever."
His arm tightened around her shoulders, which caused her to nestle even more snugly against him. Her breasts pressed into his ribcage, her hips pressed against the side of his. One long white leg wantonly draped his thighs, as though pinning him down in case he might try to leave her.
Jake had no intention of leaving. He would need strength for that, and making love to Amanda had tapped him dry. He felt weak, depleted, drained. Apparently he wasn't the only one. Amanda's breathing had gone soft and shallow, rhythmic. The hand that had been splayed atop his abdomen was now limp, the fingers curled sleepily inward. He felt her breaths on his chest like puffs of the most delightful summer breeze.
Jake turned his head, and his cheek grazed her head. Her golden hair skimmed his sensitized skin. He glanced down, and saw that more springy curls had escaped the thick plait that trail
ed over his upper arm. The curls framed her face, softening her sleep-relaxed features.
Though his gaze tenderly roved over her face, it returned to her hair. Curious, he eyed the thick, bulky plait. He had a sudden, inexplicable urge to coax it free. Had he ever seen her with those rich gold strands falling around her? No, he realized, and he was surprised at the oversight.
He sought out and slipped free the tattered ribbon holding the fringed end of the braid in place. With fingers that shook, he worked the plait free, fluffing the silky tresses around her bare shoulders.
Her hair, he was surprised to find, was longer than he'd originally thought, and the texture was much softer as it poured between his fingers. When standing, he guessed the wavy ends would fall to well below her delectable bottom. Lord knows, he'd welcome the chance to find out—providing the delectable bottom in question was as naked as a newborn baby's at the time.
A naughty, provocative picture of exactly that burned itself into Jake's mind. A grin tugged at his lips as, with a contented sigh, he took a handful of silky waves and scattered them over his chest and belly. An odd sensation jolted through him at the unique feel of her hair tickling his bare skin. It was, he thought, a feeling comparable to no other.
And so was the other feeling that coursed like liquid fire through his veins. Loosening her braid had loosened more of her flower-soft scent. It floated around him, mingling with the charred aroma of the fire, honing his senses until he felt every warm, curvaceous inch pressed against him.
Jake felt himself tighten in response, and his steely gaze widened slightly. It would appear that again and again was coming sooner than he'd thought. Much sooner than he cared for it to.
Amanda was sleeping peacefully. He didn't want to wake her to take her again so soon, but the urgent throbbing in his body was making him reconsider. It didn't matter that he rarely wanted a woman twice, and never wanted one again this soon. It didn't matter that if he woke her to make love to her now, he would only be proving to them both just how weakened he was by her. What mattered was that he wanted her. Again. Badly.
What matters, you idiot, is that she's tired and she's sleeping, he grumbled to himself as he plowed the fingers of his free hand through his hair. He turned his head so that the gold strands were no longer tickling his cheek. His gaze strayed over the room, seeking out any distraction to occupy his thoughts from waking her up to possess her again.
From his position atop the table—and a provocative position it was!—he could see almost everything. What his gaze hit upon turned out to be more of a distraction than Jake had bargained for. His attention locked onto the saddlebag on the floor in the far corner of the room. It belonged to Amanda—he'd seen it enough times to know—and it was partially opened.
Jake tensed, his eyes narrowed warily. He remembered their first night together... the night she'd watched him bathe, the night he'd questioned her about the money. He couldn't remember her exact response, but he did remember her telling him the money was in her saddlebag, perfectly safe.
At the time, he'd sensed she was lying. He'd been on his way to check when—he scowled when this memory assailed him—she'd distracted him from ever getting that far. They'd wound up making a fire, then kissing... and even then her soft, sweet mouth had had the power to push rationed thought from his mind.
The muscle in his cheek jerked. Amanda wasn't kissing him now, and although her tempting curves were distracting as all hell, he was thinking with marginal clearness. And what he was thinking, what he was brooding about, was that he'd never carried through that night. He'd never checked to see if she really did have the money to pay him, or if her offer was just another one of the lies she'd been telling him right from the start.
His fingers, curled around Amanda's upper arm, flexed. She stirred in her sleep, and Jake forced himself to loosen his grip so he didn't wake her. She settled down, curling trustingly into him once more, but he no longer felt the same enjoyment to have her pressing against him. Her warm, naked body was a distraction he couldn't afford to indulge in right now.
His gaze sharpened on her saddlebag.
It wasn't his. He had no right to go through it. Still, if she was playing him for a fool—and he suddenly had a cold, nagging suspicion that she was—well, that sure as hell wasn't right either!
He deserved some answers, didn't he? Damn straight he did! And if Amanda wouldn't give them to him...
Chapter 15
"You little bitch!"
Jake enjoyed a second of satisfaction as he watched Amanda's sleep-relaxed features pull taut. Her eyes snapped open, locking with his in a look of stunned disbelief.
"Wha—!"
"Shut up!" He'd hauled her up by her shoulders until she was in almost a sitting position. His fingers dug into her tender flesh as he gave her a firm shake. "So help me God, Miss Lennox, you say anything—just one damn word—and I'm liable to plant my fist down your lying little throat. Is that clear?"
She nodded warily, her eyes huge and round. Rich gold hair scattered around her face and shoulders in soft waves, accenting the paleness of her cheeks. Her lower lip was moist and full, trembling slightly as she nibbled it with her teeth. Jake tried not to notice any of that as he hauled her roughly off the table and onto her feet.
How she managed to keep the blanket Jake had tossed over them earlier wrapped around her body, he would never know. He was just damn glad she did. The last thing he needed was to see more of her soft, creamy white skin. The sight might burn away some of his anger, and he wanted to hold onto that. He needed to cling to his fury, hide behind it.
Anger was familiar, it was safe. And it was a hell of a lot more comfortable than the confusion this woman had stirred inside of him with her wild lovemaking and whisper-soft words.
"Get dressed," he growled. Bending at the waist, he snatched up the wrinkled pile of her clothes and pushed them into her arms. She was rubbing the sleep from her eyes with her fist, so she didn't take them right away.
With an impatient sneer, Jake grabbed her wrist and forced her free arm around the pile. Then he jerked her around and shoved her toward the hearth. The blanket was wrapped beneath her arms. That left her shoulders bare. The sensation that seared through Jake's palms when he felt her soft, tempting flesh beneath his hands was something he didn't dare study too hard.
He kept his gaze impassive when Amanda stumbled a few steps before catching her balance. Never, not even to himself, would he admit that he'd tensed imperceptibly, ready to catch her should she fall. Thank God she didn't. That meant he didn't have to make any moves toward her, meant he wouldn't have to touch her again. Not yet. That was more than fine by Jake.
"Did s-something happen that I should know about?" Amanda asked, her voice shaky as she leaned weakly against the wall.
The muscle in his jaw jerked furiously. His eyes were shimmering grey slits. "Thought I told you to shut up."
"But—"
"Then do it! Jesus, lady, just once I'd like to see you do what you're told." Jake guessed by the way Amanda shook her head that she was trying to clear it of the sleep he'd just so rudely jarred her from. If she thought his screaming in her face was rude... hell, that was nothing compared to the other ways of waking her that he'd contemplated after going through her saddlebag. It had taken a good hour before he'd trusted himself to touch her and not to hurt her.
Jake spun on his heel and turned his back on her. Over his shoulder he said harshly, "Hurry up. We don't have all night."
Amanda thought better of arguing. Whatever was going on here, she'd know soon enough. Meanwhile, it would be best to do what she was told and do it quickly. Hopefully, by the time she was done dressing his anger would have cooled.
Her hands shook when she dropped the blanket to the floor, then struggled into her clothes. The normally simple chore of working the buttons on her bodice closed proved to be difficult and time-consuming. The laces of her chemise couldn't be salvaged. They dangled down, making the neckline gape open;
the severed tips tickled her skin.
Amanda tried not to think about how Jake had sliced them with his knife, but she couldn't stop thinking about it. Her cheeks flooded with heat when she thought of how eager his big copper hands had been to get past the linen, as eager as she had been for him to do it. Their joinings had been savage and greedy and wonderful. She'd thought they were equally as wonderful for him.
Again, his reaction surprised her. What surprised Amanda even more was that, for the life of her, she couldn't imagine what had brought about his sudden burst of temper.
Jake's foul mood and burning gaze implied she'd done something very wrong. Something infuriating. Something unforgivable. In the past, he'd always shown her quiet, leashed anger. There was nothing quiet or leashed about the fury he was showing her now. It was wild, untamed, dangerous. Much more frightening than his previous displays of control had ever been.
It was also, to Amanda's mind, totally uncalled for. No matter what had caused Jake's anger, she didn't deserve to be treated this way. Dammit, no woman did!
She smoothed her palm down her skirt and took a second to compose herself. She wanted an explanation, and she would get one, but not by getting angry herself. She knew Jake better now, knew that losing her own tattered control wouldn't get her that information. If anything, it would infuriate him more; and that wasn't something Amanda felt safe doing right now.
"I'm dressed," she said, her gaze straying to Jake. His stance was open-legged and stiff, his spine a rigid line from lean hips to tensely set shoulders. His hands, straddling his hips, were balled into white-knuckled fists. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"
"No."
He hunkered down and picked up one of the knives on the floor. Amanda recognized it as one of the knives he kept concealed in the cuff of his moccasin. The weapon, while not small, was dwarfed by his big copper hand. Silently, she watched as, one by one, he retrieved his knives and replaced them in the strategic sheaths hidden by his clothes.
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