"Oh, Jake," Amanda sighed as she fingered into place a short, inky lock that had wisped over his brow. Why? Why had he done this for her? Why couldn't he say the words? Or didn't he feel the emotion behind them?
Her caress slackened. Her fingertips grazed his temple, and she cupped his warm, smooth cheek before her hand dropped onto his shoulder. She felt the dormant bands of muscle beneath her open palm. The puckered scar on the back of his neck, no longer hidden by a curtain of thick black hair, seared her fingertips.
Amanda stiffened and started to pull away, only to find her wrist abruptly ensnared by rough copper fingers. His grip wasn't painful, but it was tight, insistent. Her gaze lifted, and she found herself a willing captive of hot, molten silver.
"It's in the past, where it belongs," he said, his voice still low and gritty from sleep. "Let it go."
"Can you, Jake? Can you let it go?"
"Yes. With your help."
Only a declaration of love would have sounded sweeter to Amanda's ears. A trickle of hope warmed her blood. With your help. Surely those weren't the words of a man ready to saddle his horse and ride out. Were they? "Jake, I—"
"Amanda—"
A sudden, tense pause crackled between them. Amanda was the first to break it. "I should see to breakfast," she said quickly as, gathering the top blanket around her, she pushed shakily to her feet. Jake, she noticed from the corner of her eye, made no move to toss the other blanket over himself. Instead, he lay unabashedly naked, his hard-muscled body molded to the ground beneath him as though he were one with it. Wasn't he cold? If so, he didn't show it.
"You're making breakfast?" he muttered, and levered himself up on one elbow. The beginnings of a sarcastic grin tugged at one corner of his mouth, even as his gaze raked her. "I didn't know princesses could cook."
"We royals are just full of surprises," Amanda quipped. With a toss of her head, she walked toward her saddlebag. From over her shoulder she added, "Don't expect anything fancy. Jerky and beans is about the extent of what I can do. I'd offer you some peaches, but..."
She'd knelt down beside the saddlebag and thrown open the flap, rummaging inside by feel alone. Her voice faded when she felt the cold side of a tin can graze her fingertips. Frowning, she pulled it free. Amanda had to read the label three times before she trusted herself to turn only her glare on Jake. "You've been following me!"
His expression was as readable as a rock. That in itself was condemning as hell. "What makes you think so?"
She gestured to him with the can. "Peaches," she said triumphantly, as though that explained everything.
"I know what it is. I can read labels, princess."
"No, no, obviously you don't understand. I ate my last can of peaches last night."
"Yeah? So?"
"So... where did this can come from?"
"Your saddlebag?"
"Don't get fresh with me. This wasn't in there last night, Jake. I know. I would have eaten it if it had been."
Jake cleared his throat, shrugged, and glanced away. "Maybe you didn't see it."
"Maybe. Or maybe you put it there."
This time the grin that curled over his lips was full and steeped in secretive humor. His eyes twinkled devilishly. "Now why would I do that, princess?"
Amanda's breath caught. Lord, when he smiled...!
She lost her train of thought, remembering it only when her fingers instinctively flexed around the can. "You have been following me, haven't you?" She didn't wait for an answer; the broadening of his grin told her all she needed to know. "For how long? And... why?"
Jake sighed, and pushed to his feet. With every step that brought him closer, Amanda's heartbeat grew weaker. Her palms were suddenly moist. Drawing breath into her burning lungs took more concentration than she wanted to spare. Her gaze was fixed on Jake. The way the morning light kissed his body—all of his body—made him look sleek and powerful and... beautiful. There was no other word to describe him.
He stopped beside her, crouching until they were on eye-level. His calloused thumb scraped the delicate line of her jaw. As though he couldn't resist, he leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers. The contact was brief but jarring. To them both.
"Amanda, honey," he said finally, his tone serious and controlled—even though his gaze continued to sparkle with... what? "Did you know you're in Wyoming? You have been for about a day and a half now."
"I'm... what?" she squeaked, then blinked hard and frowned. Wyoming? Not Idaho? But how could that be?
"Yup. See, the way I figure it, at the rate you're traveling you should hit Mexico in a couple of months."
"Mexico? But I don't want to go to Mexico!"
Jake started to laugh, but swallowed the impulse back, thinking correctly that it wouldn't be appreciated. He cleared his throat, gave himself a second to compose his sudden humor, and said, "I know, princess. That's why I'm here."
This was getting confusing. "You're here because I'm in Wyoming, even though I want to go to Washington," she muttered beneath her breath, shaking her head. "That makes no sense, Jake. And what on earth does any of it have to do with peaches?"
His hand opened, holding the soft underside of her chin, drifting over the long, smooth taper of her throat. The pulse nestled in the base leapt erratically against his palm. "Yes, I put the peaches in your saddlebag. And yes, I added the extra slices of jerky that you may or may not have noticed yesterday. And yes, the two extra cans of beans the day before that. And..." he shook his head and sighed. "Amanda, you don't really think you can stoke a fire before you go to bed and still have it blazing when you wake up the next morning, do you?"
Her eyes widened. "You did that?"
"That... and more." He chuckled softly. "A couple days back I tried to head you off, steer you West... but you're a stubborn little piece of royalty. Cute, but stubborn. You just stuck that prissy nose of yours up in the air, went around the pile of logs I'd set up, and headed due south."
It wasn't funny. Amanda knew it wasn't funny. Jake had been following her, watching her all this time and hadn't had the decency to show himself. She should be insulted. She should be furious! She wasn't. How could she be angry when she had Jake Chandler's husky laughter curling like warm honey down her spine, and his steely gaze heating her blood?
She reached up and cupped the back of his hand with her palm. Their gazes met; hers wide, his narrow, both intense and searching. "Why, Jake? Why would you do all that for me?"
"Because I'm anxious to get to Washington," he replied huskily. "Because I want to know what it's like to make love to my woman in a real bed."
Amanda's stomach fluttered. "M-make love?"
"That's what I said."
"Yes, but is that what you meant?"
"Yes. It isn't just 'sex' with you, lady. It never has been. Damned if I know..." Jake gritted his teeth and pushed abruptly to his feet. The curses he let loose were long and vibrant. "See? See what you've done to me? Jesus, now you've got me lying!"
With an aggravated sigh, he plowed his fingers through his hair, and grimaced. It felt short, light... unfamiliar. He wondered how long was it going to take to adjust to this new, shorter length? How long before he adjusted to the boots that he'd bought in the last town he'd passed through; boots that pinched the hell out of his feet. And the shiny new Smith & Wesson hanging off a holster whose leather was so new it squeaked; a gun he really wasn't good at using. And the saddle that sat in a shady spot beneath a tree; a saddle he'd hitched behind the white because he still hadn't had the heart to put on.
How long was it going to take for him to adjust to all of that? Jake didn't know, but however long it took, he'd do it, work at it. Hard. For Amanda. And speaking of Amanda...
He glanced down at her. "I do know why it's so good with you. Do you want me to tell you, princess? Are you ready to hear it?"
"More than ready," Amanda replied, and braced herself. She was scared to death to hear what he was going to say, yet she also knew she'd go c
razy if she didn't listen.
With a gentleness Jake didn't know he possessed, he drew her to her feet. Neither noticed when the blanket fell from her slackened fingers, and puddled on the ground around their feet. Both were excruciatingly aware of when he pulled her against him, molding her soft white curves to his solid copper body.
Home, Jake thought as he held her against him. Cradled in her arms was the sweetest place he had ever, would ever, know.
He angled his head, and rubbed the golden silk of her hair with his cheek. His breaths sounded deep, strained; the heat of them washing over her felt wonderful, inflaming.
"I love you, Amanda Lennox," he whispered softly, raggedly. "Jesus, I love you so much it scares the hell out of me!"
Amanda absorbed the words, let them slide through her in a wave of pleasure that made her shake. When Jake pulled her closer, she nuzzled against him without question. She wrapped her arms around his back, holding him close, as though trying to melt right into him and become a part of him—the way he was already a part of her.
"Er, princess?"
"Hmmm...?"
"This is the first time I've ever done this, so maybe I'm wrong, but I think you're supposed to say you love me, too."
Amanda smiled, and hugged him all the closer. "I do. I do, I do, I do! You know that. You—"
He inched back and, cupping her cheeks in his hands, stared into her eyes. "Tell me, Amanda. You said the words once, and I turned you away because I thought I had to. I won't turn you away now. Never again. Please, I need to hear you say it."
She sucked in a sharp breath, held it for only a beat, then, on its release, poured out the words that were in her heart. "You are my life, Jacob Blackhawk Chandler and I... Oh, God, I love you so much it hurts sometimes."
His sooty lashes swept down, and she watched his expression tighten in an acute pleasure-pain that seemed to radiate from his body to hers. She shivered, and a tear slipped free when she reached up and smoothed a palm over his brow, his cheek, his jaw. It fascinated her, the way her small white hand looked against a backdrop of burnished copper.
Her gaze lifted, locking with intense silver. There was no need to speak her thoughts aloud; Amanda could tell by the look in Jake's eyes that he knew exactly what she was thinking.
"I won't lie to you, princess. I won't tell you it'll be easy for us, because it won't be," he said, even as he turned his head, and his lips grazed her open palm. "Never forget those men in Junction, because there will be more of them. Dozens of them. There are going to be times when you'll to wish to hell you'd never met me. Are you sure you—?"
"Yes, Jake! A thousand times yes!"
His gaze darkened with pleasure. "Good. Because I don't think I can let you go, princess. I might have tried, for a while, but... dammit, I'm just not that strong."
"I'm glad. Because when it comes to you, neither am I. I don't want you to let me go, Jake. Not now. Not ever. Just hold me. Please."
He did. He held her and kissed her, loved and cherished her. He leaned into her, and held her so close to him that their heartbeats meshed. She moaned and clung to him as he lowered them both to the ground.
"Washington, Jake," Amanda sighed as he trailed hot, moist kisses down her throat. Lower, then lower still. "I... thought you wanted to get there quickly."
"We'll set out tomorrow. After we make a little detour."
"A detour?"
"I..." He hesitated, his warm lips poised over her collarbone. She felt the heat of his sigh seep into her skin. "I want to stop and see Little Bear and Gail. If that's all right with you."
She hesitated, stiffening slightly. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, princess. It's long past time I saw my nephews, don't you think?"
"No, Jake. What I think is that it's time you and your sister put the past behind you. Where it belongs."
She felt him pull in a shaky breath, felt him nod. "Yes, Amanda, that too. I owe Gail an apology, I know that now. The question is, will she accept it?"
"I think she will. I think—"
"Shhh, don't think, princess. Feel." He pressed his open mouth against her upper chest. She felt his warm breaths mist over her skin, heat her blood.
She sighed. He groaned. Both lost their train of thought.
Jake shifted, working his way downward. Finding a rosy nipple, he suckled it into his mouth, quickly teasing it into a firm, aching peak. Amanda arched against him, into him, her airy sighs of surrender wafting over his head, burning into his skin, into his blood. Ah, yes. She was a part of him. The very best part. The part he couldn't, wouldn't, live without.
Jake lifted his head, and looked down into her passion-darkened eyes. "Today, I want to make love to my woman until she knows she's mine. Always."
Smiling, she wrapped her arms around Jake's neck and drew his mouth to hers. "She knows," Amanda whispered against his lips. "But I don't think she'll mind you showing her again..."
"And again," Jake finished the thought for her, his voice husky and sweet and so filled with promise that it brought fresh tears to her eyes.
"And again," she sighed breathlessly.
His tongue sipped the moisture from her cheek, even as their bodies arched together, eager to quench the fire they'd lit inside each other.
It was a fire that would take at least a lifetime to put out.
The End
Excerpt from
Perfect Strangers
by
Rebecca Sinclair
© 1996, 2011 by Rebecca Sinclair
Gabrielle sneezed, sniffled, then wiped her eyes and nose on the cloth. Distracted, it took a second for the reality of the situation to seep in. Sweet Lord, she was alone in the chamber with none other than The Black Douglas. Her heartbeat accelerated, heating the already fevered blood in her veins. She shivered and yanked the blanket up protectively close beneath her chin.
"Cold?" Connor asked as he eased himself onto Mairghread's recently vacated seat. The wooden chair legs groaned beneath his weight.
"Aye, a bit chilly," Gabrielle lied. Her shiver had nothing to do with the damp night air and everything to do with this man's commanding presence. However, there was no reason he should know that.
"Then Mairghread was right for once. 'Tis maun soup ye be needing to warm ye up on the inside and chase away those fever chills." Gabrielle watched, transfixed, as he dipped the spoon into the soup, coming up with a hearty mouthful. Compared to the gnarled old hand that had so recently held it, Connor's big hand dwarfed the spoon handle until the utensil looked sized for a child. "Here ye go, lass. Eat up and get well. The preacher will not wait fore'er, don't ye ken?"
"If you're thinking... Oh, nay, I will not. I—" Her words were cut short as, seizing the opportunity of her open mouth, Connor shoved the spoonful of soup past her lips. He used the bowl of the spoon to not only catch the drop of broth that trickled down her chin but to also nudge her gaping mouth shut before more broth could spill out.
Gabrielle chewed swiftly, barely noticing that the once-tasty soup now had the flavor of mud. A wave of irritation swept though her. Oh, but it was difficult to suppress the urge to finish what she'd started, and tell this heathen exactly what she thought of him and his impatient preacher.
She swallowed down the soup and was in the process of opening her mouth to vent her mounting ire... only to find she had no breath left in her lungs to vent it with. Her breathing had paused just beneath her hammering heart when Connor plucked the cloth from her hand and wiped the residue of broth from her chin.
Gabrielle stared at him. The gesture left her speechless. Nay, that was wrong. It wasn't the gesture that stunned her so much as the gentleness with which he'd accomplished it.
While The Black Douglas was known for many things, consideration wasn't one of them. Was it possible the rumors and ballads about this man were wrong? That he wasn't in truth the heartless, barbaric monster they all painted him?
Gabrielle suppressed a groan. Dear Lord, she must be sicker than she o
riginally thought to even be considering such a notion. Was this not, after all, the same man who'd flagrantly—and much too easily, as far as she was concerned—stolen her, his brother's fiancée, right out from under the other man's nose? Was this not the same man who claimed it a rightful theft, the same man who'd then boldly bragged about marrying her himself?
Aye, it was. But, Gabrielle found all of those misdeeds hard to remember when the feel of Connor's strong, cloth-covered fingers gently skimming her jaw still lingered and tingled in her veins.
"Here, lass, swallow down another bite. 'Tis good and hearty fare, just the thing for a sick wench." He'd dipped the spoon back into the bowl and now held it close to her tightly compressed lips.
Gabrielle shook her head. She was wise enough this time not to open her mouth to voice the protest that itched the tip of her tongue.
Her attention had been locked on the closed door at the foot of the bed. It now lifted to his face.
From a distance, his eyes had looked... well, merely gray. Up close, she saw that there was nothing "merely" about them. The irises were predominantly slate colored, yet now she noticed they were also flecked with intriguing shards of brilliant blue. The darkness of his eyebrows, and the uncommonly long, thick black eyelashes, contrasted sharply, complementing and enhancing their color.
She shook her head to clear it, ignoring the way the gesture set her temples to throbbing anew. "I'll not be marrying you, Connor Douglas, so get that notion out of your head right now."
This time, Gabrielle was prepared. She kept her teeth clenched together as she talked, giving him no opportunity to shove more food into her mouth.
Connor frowned and looked vaguely disappointed.
Gabrielle gritted her teeth until her jaw hurt almost as much as her pounding head and aching throat. Did he truly think her so stupid she would fall for that trick more than once? If so, the man had a good deal to learn about Careltons and their intelligence... not to mention their stubborn determination!
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