Montan a Wildfire

"Your women? Your women?" Her eyes widened; the green depths spit fire. "I am not your woman, Mr. Chandler. Nor will I ever be. I have better taste than that. Now, if you'll step aside I can get my water and be out of your way."

"You're not in my way."

"Maybe not. But you are in mine!"

"So go around me," he said, and didn't move.

Amanda gritted her teeth. Her temples throbbed a protest. It took effort not to reach up and massage the ache away. The only thing stopping her was knowing that Jake Would take it as a sign of weakness. A normal man wouldn't have; a headache was, after all, a negligible complaint. But this man wasn't anyone's idea of "normal." No doubt the arrogant beast would take pride in thinking he'd riled her enough to make her head pound. Amanda refused to give him that kind of satisfaction.

Go around, he'd told her. Fine. This once, if it meant getting her precious water and getting away from the confusion this man stirred in her, Amanda would do as he requested and do it quickly. Putting weight on her injured ankle wasn't pleasant. She countered the pain by telling herself she would soon be back at camp, warmed by a crackling fire, sponging the dirt and sweat from her body. And soon after that, she would be asleep—and for a little while at least, blessedly unaware of Jake Chandler.

Stepping haughtily around him, Amanda limped over to the icy, churning river. She knelt on the sandy bank and dipped the pan into the water. It was a small pan; the amount of water she scooped up was miserly. It was as she was noticing this fact that Jake's previous words burned past her cloud of anger.

Think you'll fit?

He'd meant, of course, would she fit into the pan. She knew that now, knew also that he'd been making a joke. Amanda frowned. Jake didn't strike her as the type who made jokes. Hadn't he admitted as much? So why had he? Why, indeed. She had a feeling the observation was important, though she wasn't sure why. Filing the information away—there would be time to consider what it meant later, when she was alone—Amanda pushed awkwardly to her feet, and turned.

Jake was standing behind her. Amanda saw him, in the same instant she collided with the smooth, hard wall of his chest. Water sloshed from the pan when she stumbled backward.

His fingers coiled around her upper arms, his grip firm yet at the same time oddly gentle. She wondered if saving her from a plunge in the frigid river was his only reason for touching her. Something—the look in his eyes, perhaps?—told her it had been a convenient excuse.

"Mr. Chandler, please," she snapped, trying to shrug from his grip. Why oh, why couldn't she think straight when this man touched her? Why...? Oh no, her knees were going weak again. And she was beginning to shake—again.

"Please what?" he asked, and she thought his tone sounded frustratingly calm.

"Please unhand me."

He shook his head. Amanda refused to notice the way the small brown feather, buried in a bed of long black hair, grazed his chest. "Not yet. We've got something to settle first, princess. And the sooner we do it, the better."

She scowled. Now what was he talking about? And did she really want to stay here long enough to find out? No, she did not. Of course, his grip on her arms said he wasn't giving her a choice. "Couldn't it wait until morning? I'm tired and my ankle is throbbing. All I want is to wash off some of this dirt and get a little sleep."

"I know," he replied dryly. "Problem is, I want this settled now."

Her gaze narrowed and sharpened. "And you always get

what you want. Isn't that right, Mr. Chandler?"

"Always. You'd do well to remember that, Miss Lennox." His hands blazed slow, hot paths down her arms. One by one, his fingers curled inward, manacling her wrists.

At five foot six, Amanda wasn't exactly short. At one hundred and fifteen perfectly proportioned pounds, she was slender but doubted anyone would consider her delicate. Herself included. So why, for the first time in her life, was she feeling tiny and frail? Feminine? Vulnerable? She didn't know, and she didn't like it. It was an unsettling feeling. "I won't have to, since you'll no doubt remind me often enough."

"No doubt. Have a seat." He gave a tug on her wrists.

Amanda, planning to refuse, shifted her weight. Her ankle spasmed with pain. A gasp hissed though her teeth at the same time her knees, already watery from his touch, buckled. The ground felt hard when her tender bottom slammed atop it.

"Is such manhandling necessary?" she snapped, and yanked her skirt hem primly down around her ankles. She couldn't resist chafing away the lingering feel of him on her wrists. Even though he'd let her go, the skin there still burned with the imprint of his fingers.

"Probably not. But what the hell? It works."

Since she'd trained her gaze on the river gurgling in front of her, Amanda felt rather than saw Jake crouch on the ground beside her. Closely beside her. The heat of his leg seared her upper arm. Beneath the scant barrier of her sleeve, her flesh sizzled with awareness.

A tense moment ticked past. Amanda concentrated on the sound the river made as it lapped against the sandy bank. She told herself she wasn't aware of the way Jake Chandler's steady breath cut through the chilly night air. Or the feel of it puffing over her too-sensitive cheek and neck. But she was.

She sighed in resignation. "All right, Mr. Chandler," she said slowly, cautiously, "I'm listening. What do you want?" Glancing to the side, she saw a sly grin curl over his lips. His steely gaze darkened with innuendo. Her stomach sank. She sucked in a shaky breath and quickly looked back out over the water. "What I mean is, what do you want to talk to me about?"

Jake plucked a long stalk of grass from the ground. He took his time clamping it between his teeth, rolling it from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue, knowing he was prolonging her agony.

The grass tasted crisp and sweet. His gaze settled on Amanda Lennox's lips, and he wondered if her mouth would taste as good. He knew it would. Her lips would be soft and honey-sweet, her gasps of surrender hot and airy. The inside of her mouth would be warm and moist and tasty; a flavor that was to die for. Jake could already feel a sliver of his soul die with the need to prove the theory.