"Ever the lady, ain't ya, princess?"
"I try to be. Will you please unhand me now?"
"Sure, since you asked so nicely and all..." One by one, his fingers unpeeled from her arms. When he'd broken the grip, he let his hands fall limply to his sides. He didn't step away. His body was still close enough for her to feel, and react to, his searing heat.
They stood that way for one tense moment. Jake let her remain wrapped in her thoughts, mostly because he couldn't shake himself from his own long enough to distract her. What the hell had just happened here? Nothing extraordinary, he assured himself. Something very extraordinary, another part of himself argued. No, not really, he insisted.
Dammit, what had happened? He'd saved her from falling. It was that simple. He'd noticed the nice way her body was put together. Not so simple—not by half!—but normal for any healthy, red-blooded male. Then she'd moved, pressing herself so close he could feel her heart skipping. And out of nowhere... bam! Jesus, he'd never felt attraction that quick and strong in his life!
Jake sighed, and dragged a palm down his jaw. He had to get his thoughts back on track. The best way to do that would be to get away from the woman who was causing them to stray. "You hungry?"
Amanda forced a shrug, and eyed him closely. Judging from his expression—granite hard and stoic, as always—she was the only one who'd felt that sizzle of awareness when they'd touched. If Jake had felt it at all, it didn't show. He appeared oh, so calm. Oh so casual. Well, she decided, if he could act as if nothing had happened, surely she could do the same. Her gaze strayed back to his flat metal buttons. This time she forced it to stay there. "Yes, a bit. You?"
"Famished."
He wasn't talking about food. Amanda knew it. The information shivered through her, even as her attention snapped up. Their gazes met and held. Absolutely no emotion could be read in either his eyes or his expression, and that annoyed her.
"I have some jerky and beans in my saddlebag," she said tightly, and she limped back a step. A chilly breeze whisked over her. Though the night was cool, the air felt unnaturally brisk. She wrapped her arms around her waist, trying to hold in some of her body heat. "I think I have enough coffee left for one more pot. You're welcome to share it."
His shrug was negligent, as though he really didn't care. "Fine by me. So long as you're not the one making it."
Amanda took offense. "I brew a decent pot of coffee, Mr. Chandler," she argued. The way he continually ordered her about was beginning to grate on her nerves.
"Yeah, princess, I'm sure you do. I was just thinking of what happened the last time you waded into a river for water." His grin was slow and wicked. The sight of it made her heart palpitate. "Then again..."
His gaze seared her from the top of her head, down to the arms she clasped at her waist. She had a feeling he was thinking more of the way her wet skirt and blouse had clung to her body, and not the foot he had freed from the sunken tree trunk.
Amanda swallowed hard. Her reaction was not so much from his gaze—though that was certainly a part of it—a large part of it—but from the memory of his calloused fingertips and the way he'd boldly explored the wet, slippery curves of her legs. Her skin still burned from the intimacy of his touch, even though it was nothing more than a disturbing memory now. She had an uneasy feeling that she wouldn't be forgetting the branding feel of his hands on her anytime soon.
"I'll get the food," she said, and turned away from him.
She hobbled over to the horses with as much dignity as a tired, limping woman could. The cinch strap on the mare's saddle had worked itself tight. It took effort to pry it loose. Her trembling fingers made the chore take longer than it should have.
Jake, in the meantime, retrieved his coffee pot from the possessions he'd rolled up in the saddle-blanket strapped to the white. Her own coffee pot had, of course, been lost to the river that morning.
"You start the fire while I'm gone," he said, sparing Amanda only one quick, piercing gaze before he pivoted on his heel and again disappeared into the thick covering of underbrush.
Amanda listened for the rustle of leaves or snap of twigs that would mark his leaving, but wasn't surprised when she didn't hear any. She hadn't heard him approach before he'd caught her falling off the horse either, but that didn't seem to mean anything. The man was quick, agile, and as silent as a cat.
Though the observation was unnerving, it did help soothe her conscience. It proved her decision to hire Jake Chandler had been a good one. If anyone could find Roger, that person was Jake. He was strong, mentally and physically. His judgment was sound, even if his sense of honor was warped. Make that nonexistent; the man had no sense of honor that she'd seen. Though he was, by his own admission, not the world's best tracker, he hadn't lost the trail yet, which meant he wasn't bad either.
She hoisted the saddle off the mare and let it thump to the ground near her feet. When she turned, her gaze fixed on a small stack of firewood scattered sloppily in the center of the clearing. She remembered the clatter of noise just before Jake had caught her. One golden brow arched in contemplation.
Amanda studied the twigs and branches as though they were the most amusing thing she'd ever seen. Hadn't she told Jake she was out of matches? If not, she'd certainly meant to.
Arm over arm, Jake's body sliced through the river. The mountain-fed water felt like a sheet of ice lapping at his skin. Bitter cold and invigorating, it was exactly what he needed. Pity it didn't cool off his thoughts a damn bit.
The turn of his mind was red-hot. The object of his attention? The curve of a certain snobby Bostonian princess's breasts... and the more than enticing way she'd felt when he'd dragged her soft, slender body down his length.
Lowering Amanda Lennox to her feet like that hadn't been the smartest thing Jake had ever done. At the time it had seemed like a good idea. He'd been bitten by the urge to find out what her luscious curves would feel like sliding against his hardness. Now he knew. In retrospect, it was something he could have lived happily without ever having learned. But it was too late now.
Plain and simple, the woman made him hot. And she did it so quickly and thoroughly, so effortlessly, that it staggered him. Even after a brisk swim in a river fed by mountain water so cold it numbed and puckered his skin, Jake couldn't stop thinking about her. Fantasizing about her. His blood still boiled, his gut still churned, and his
...
Jesus, he was hot for her still!
That knowledge hit him like a fist to the gut. It drove him to double the already furious pace of his arms and legs. The frigid water wasn't working the way it was supposed to. It didn't cool either his body or his mind. It sure as hell didn't diminish the throbbing ache in his groin. Tonight, his body had a mind all its own, and swimming in an ice-cold river wasn't what it wanted.