Amanda gasped. The grimace wrinkling her nose faded, and the hands she was scouring on her shirt froze. A tremor that she tried to stifle, but couldn't, racked her shoulders. "Oh, no. Not again."
If Jake heard, he gave no sign. His slitted gaze volleyed between her big, frightened green eyes, and the snake—the body of which now curled like a shadowy coil of rope in the grass near his feet. "Jesus, lady, what the hell'd you do that for?"
"You deserved it." The second she saw him sheath the knife, Amanda began to relax. Unfortunately, her trembling wasn't so easily conquered. "Don't think for a minute I'm going to... to skin that... that..."
"Snake," he finished for her, the word hissing from between tightly clenched teeth. "It's a snake, princess."
"I know what it is!"
"Then say it."
"No."
Jake had always prided himself on having an abundance of patience. He found nothing admirable about how close he was to loosing his temper with this woman now. "Fine, don't say it," he growled. His nostrils flared, and the muscle in his cheek jerked. "Hell, I don't care if you never say it. Just so long as you skin it."
Her chin was tipped at a haughty angle. Until that moment, Jake didn't realize just how much he hated the way she did that. Her condescending glare now had to travel the full, pert length of her nose to reach him. The glint in her green eyes made him feel low and dirty, like she found him more repulsive than the reptile that would, with any luck, be their supper. He supposed the expression was a natural gesture for her, just as he supposed it was only natural for his reaction to be an itch in his fingers that begged for the chance to throttle some of that regal disdain out of her.
He leashed the urge. Barely. "Well? You going to cook it or not?"
"Not. I refuse to touch that," she grimaced, and shivered delicately, "thing."
His grin was cold and ruthless, gone as quickly as it had come. "You just did, princess. Or don't you remember throwing it at me?"
"I remember. And the only reason I touched it then was because I was too upset to think about what I was doing." Amanda was thinking about it now, though. Thinking about how the cold, scaly hide had felt in her palms. About how heavy it was, the way its body had twisted and moved as though it was still alive. She swallowed hard and rubbed her hands down her skirt, trying to scrub away the disgusting feel. It refused to be banished.
Jake studied her long and hard. He had to admit, at first he'd chalked up her reluctance as a childish desire to... annoy him—her way of getting even for what he'd done to her last night with the fire. Now he wasn't so sure. The woman looked truly horrified at the thought of touching the snake again. And when he'd mentioned eating it... well, her pale white cheeks still had that unflattering green undertone.
Jake scowled, at her as much as at himself. All right, so he'd had a momentary slip. He'd temporarily forgotten that properly bred white ladies rarely if ever saw, let alone dined, on snakes. So what? He'd been hungry and tired after a long day of riding and tracking. When he'd seen the snake he'd thought it would make a nice, easy-to-cook, hearty supper. He still did. God knows it would be a refreshing change from jerky and beans. He hadn't given a thought to how Little Miss Prissy Britches would react.
He wasn't going to think about it now. He was still tired, still hungry, and he'd already killed the goddamn snake. He wasn't about to go hunt up something else when they had a perfectly good meal waiting to be skinned, gutted, and cooked.
Which brought up another interesting point...
"You do know how to cook, don't you, princess?"
"I can fillet and broil a swordfish that would drive you to your knees, Mr. Chandler," she sniffed imperiously. His knees, Amanda thought wistfully. Yes, she would definitely like to see Jake there. Soon.
His laughter took her off guard. It was a deep, thoroughly masculine, thoroughly appealing sound. She glanced up, and found herself entranced. The whiteness of his teeth made an intriguing contrast to his rich copper skin. Laugh lines bracketed his mouth, and his eyes shimmered in a way that was mesmerizing, not to mention breathtakingly attractive. Amanda couldn't look away. Worse, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to.
One inky brow cocked. "Swordfish? Princess, I don't know how to break this to you, but we're nowhere near the ocean. A few trout is the best I could do... providing I found a stream before dark. Which I won't, because I'm not going out again."
"Pity. My swordfish is a real treat."
"No doubt," Jake said, then chuckled and shook his head. Broiled swordfish! Jesus, this pampered white woman was chock full of surprises!
Like his laugh, Jake's low, husky chuckle shot down Amanda's spine like a flash of liquid heat. It sizzled in her blood and melted her indignation. Deep down she knew she should still be feeling at least a smidgen of anger. He was laughing at her expense, after all. She had a right to be upset. So why wasn't she? Why couldn't she, no matter how hard she tried, summon up even an ounce of resentment?
She didn't know, she just couldn't. Amanda thought Jake's suddenly good mood had a lot to do with it. His laughter was infectious. She was having trouble trying to keep the corners of her mouth quirked in a stern frown; her lips begged to curl upward, eager to join in his mirth.
"Tell you what I'm gonna do," Jake said, sounding very much like a carnival vendor she'd seen once, many years ago. "Why don't we trade chores? You get the fire started while I skin our friend here." He crouched down and picked up the snake, letting it drag from his hands down to the ground. "Sound fair?"
Oh, yes. It sounded more than fair. Unless one took into account what he wanted in return for such a magnanimous gesture. And he would want something, she knew. Jake Chandler was too shrewd to offer a favor like that out of the goodness of his heart—if he had one, which she rather doubted. No, there had to be something in it for him. Amanda didn't hesitate to ask exactly what that something he would want in return was.
Jake's attention immediately, albeit unconsciously, dipped to her lips. His gaze burned and devoured—more so when he saw her catch and nibble the full pink flesh with her teeth. His jaw clenched, and he curbed an overpowering urge to replace her teeth with his. To nibble, taste, stroke with his tongue...
Remember that she's a prissy white woman. Remember what happened this morning.
Jake knew that was what he should be thinking about right now. That, and the bitter sting of years of old memories and hard-learned lessons. Surely, between the two, this urge to taste and touch and push the rules would fade. Wouldn't it? Jesus, he hoped so!