Indulging in sympathy wasn't one of Jake Chandler's virtues. In fact, he didn't recognize or acknowledge the emotion, even when it sluiced through him. Cursing under his breath, he bent at the waist, scooped her up in his arms, and strutted back toward their camp.
/> The pan dropped from Amanda's abruptly slack fingers. It clinked against the side of a rock, but Jake didn't bother to stop and retrieve it. He'd fetch it later, when he came back for his things. Right now, he had more important matters to attend to.
Chapter 5
I insist you put me down." Amanda was striving for a tone that sounded neutral but demanding. Rational would have been nice; pity she couldn't manage it . The last thing she wanted was for Jake to know how his strong arms cradling her—his warm, bare flesh touching her—made her feel.
"Insist all you want, princess. Won't do you any good."
"And if I were to tell you I can walk?"
She felt his shrug. "I'd say that's just dandy. Walk all you want... tomorrow. Tonight, you stay off that ankle."
Amanda gritted her teeth. Lord, the man was stubborn! How did he think she'd gotten down to the river in the first place? Hired coach? "You aren't going to put me down, are you?"
"What do you think?" he asked, and kept right on walking.
And that, Amanda decided, was exactly the problem. She couldn't think when Jake touched her. And when he held her close, as he was doing now... well, she didn't want to think, she wanted only to feel. Strange, new, and exciting sensations spiraled through her. Was it possible to feel hot and cold at the same time? It must be, because that was how she felt. Warm and tingly, insanely alive and yet... just as cold and insanely empty. Yes, that was it. She felt empty.
Amanda scowled. Was she, Amanda Louise Van Simmons Lennox, feeling lonely? No, it couldn't be! Or could it? She didn't know, and her confusion served only to confuse her still more.
Sinking into a pensive silence, Amanda tried to ignore how wonderful Jake's arms felt as he cradled her to his chest. She tried to ignore the way his clean, earthy scent lent a sensuous tang to the brisk night air. Tried, and failed. The man wasn't easily ignored. Even harder to ignore was the way mere thoughts of him created that odd, empty ache inside her... and the way mere thoughts of him also served to semi-smooth that ache away.
The walk down to the river hadn't seemed long. The trip back took forever. That might have been because, somewhere between when Jake had picked her up, and when they neared the clearing, Amanda's once rigid body had begun to melt into him. It wasn't a conscious thing. She didn't relax all at once, but rather, muscle by weary muscle gradually uncoiled and loosened.
By the time she heard the whicker of their tethered horses, she'd relaxed considerably. Her hands were no longer clenched in her lap, but had at some point inched up the smooth, warm expanse of Jake's chest. Her arms were now wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangled in fistfuls of his silky black hair. Keeping space between them had proved too taxing an effort; she'd quickly found she had no energy for it. Her cheek was cushioned against his shoulder. The sculpted firmness of him felt good and natural, as if that part of him had been carved just for her. The fit was warm and perfect.
Jake stepped into the moonswept clearing where they'd set up camp. No, make that where he'd presumed a camp should be. From the look of things, Amanda Lennox hadn't lifted one perfectly manicured finger the entire time he'd been gone. The wood was still scattered dead center of the small, oval expanse of grass—exactly where he'd left it. No fire had been lit.
The second he made the observation, Jake wondered why he'd bothered. The woman snuggled so nicely in his arms was, after all, a pampered white princess. She wouldn't have the skill to get a fire started, even if she possessed the knowledge to do it. How she'd managed to stay alive out here this long was beyond him. Luck, most likely, and a lot of it.
He bent and deposited her roughly atop the hard-packed earth, his patience frayed. "Thought I told you to light a fire?"
"I was out of matches," Amanda sniffed. Ignoring him as best she could, she lifted her skirt to inspect her ankle. The discolored swelling was no worse, nor was it better. The whole area still hurt mightily. She flicked the skirt back into place, and glared up at him. "Don't look at me like that. I did try, but it wouldn't catch. I think the wood you collected is damp."
"Like hell." Jake swaggered over to the pile and lifted a knobby stick. Holding it at waist level, he snapped it neatly in two. The sound of wood splintering made Amanda's spine go rigid. She watched as a few brittle chunks of bark rained to the ground, peppering the toes of Jake's bare feet.
"All right, so maybe that one was dry," she conceded grudgingly, and glanced away. "But the rest were—"
Another stick snapped. Another. The night echoed with the sound of dry wood cracking.
Amanda's eyes narrowed. Slowly, her gaze swept back to Jake. He looked quite pleased with himself, she noticed—and in the same instant thought she would gladly slap that condescending glare right off of his handsome face, were he within easy reach. As luck would have it, he was not.
"Do you want me to try again?" Her tone was as sweet as her smile. Only the way she pushed each word through clenched teeth suggested her irritation with this man.
Jake crossed his arms over his chest. One corner of his mouth quirked up, and a dark brow cocked high. His steely gaze sparkled with a challenging light that was enhanced by the play of moonlight and shadow.
Amanda's heartbeat kicked into double time. The small act of a smile—a genuine one this time—transformed his features from merely attractive to breathtakingly good-looking. Maybe it had something to do with the way his white teeth flashed against the rich copper of his face? Whatever the reason, she was learning to appreciate his rare, fleeting smiles.
Jake's right hand came away from the corded forearm it was pillowed atop. With an open palm, he indicated the wood. "Yeah, I think I would like that. I've always wondered how a society princess lights a fire."
Her lips thinned. "Is that a fact? Funny, I've always wondered how an Indian does it."
An angry glint turned the color of his eyes from silver to midnight grey. The muscle in his cheek throbbed. "All right, Miss Lennox, let me put this in terms you'll understand. I'll use small words... it'll be easier for you to follow. I'm cold, I'm hungry, I'm tired." He counted each complaint off on his fingers, his gaze never leaving her. His eyes were bright with the innuendo that threaded his voice with husky promise. "If you don't get off that cute little butt of yours and get a fire started soon, I'm going to be forced to find some other way to keep myself warm tonight. If that happens, I give you my word... come morning there'll be one less white lady wondering how this Indian does anything."
He was dead serious. Amanda decided it would be in her best interest to give lighting the fire another try. Not wanting to put unnecessary weight on her ankle, she used her hands and good leg to push herself over the few feet of grass separating her from the wood. She kept her shoulders squared and her spine straight and proud, although she had to admit that hauling herself clumsily over the ground the way she was doing made it difficult to appear ladylike.
Her fingers, she was pleased to note, didn't tremble too much when she selected the two sticks she'd used earlier. One piece already had the proper-sized hole gouged in the center; she laid that one flat on the ground. Inserting the tip of the thinner, longer stick into the hole, Amanda flattened her palms on either side of it. Her skin was chafed from her previous attempt to get the fire started. She had tried, dammit! She disregarded the sting of bark against her tender flesh—at least she tried to disregard it, but it made her movements awkward.