I get bored easily, and when I get bored with you...
"All right," Amanda agreed, and smiled indulgently when he explained, in detail, what a wild card was, how one recognized it, and how it figured into a hand of poker. Good heavens, the man really did think she was an idiot, didn't he?
The woman had seen him in less than a pair of flimsy cotton underdrawers. Hell, she'd seen him wearing nothing but a few beads of water and some moonlight! Jake knew he had no reason to feel uncomfortable, but... Dammit, he'd feel a whole lot better if she had lost something! Anything. Her hair ribbon. Her stockings. Her corset—which was the reason he'd originally started playing this fool game of poker to begin with.
Was it any wonder the lady had put up no more than a token resistance when he'd first suggested strip poker? Hell, no. Amanda Lennox was a card shark!
In the last fifteen minutes she hadn't lost a stitch. On the other hand, she'd acquired quite an accumulation of Jake's clothing. He was down to his undershorts, the eagle feather anchored to his braid, and the half-smoked cigarette clamped tightly between his teeth. That wouldn't be so bad, if the night air hadn't turned so damn brisk!
Amanda delicately cleared her throat and passed Jake the cards she'd collected to indicate it was his deal. Ever the lady, he thought sarcastically. His eyes narrowing against the smoke floating up from the tip of his cigarette, he glared at her sharply. She looked far too pleased with herself.
Jake decided it was time to cheat.
"So, princess," he said as he started shuffling, "where the hell'd you learn to play poker?"
Amanda grinned. "My father taught me."
"That figures." Jake shuddered to think what else that man had taught his daughter. The veneer of "lady" was chipping away more every minute. Not a good sign. It would be better, safer, if they kept to their original parts; her the indignant society princess, him the untamed savage. The problem was, the more he got to know this woman, the more he thought he might—might—have misjudged her.
"My father was an excellent card player, Mr. Chandler," she elaborated, her upper-crust accent now locked firmly in place. "While poker was one of his many specialties, he excelled at bridge. Have you ever played bridge?"
One steely gaze slitted. "Contact bridge, Miss Lennox?"
"Yes."
"Not with cards, no." One corner of his mouth kicked up as his attention dipped to the base of her throat. Her pulse was fast and hard. Jake took perverse satisfaction in that. It was nice to know he was getting under her skin. At least he was winning at something tonight, even if it wasn't cards. And speaking of cards...
He resumed shuffling, then dealt out a hand of five card draw, nothing wild, pair or better to op
en, jacks or better to win, progressive. A nasty game, one that could take forever to play through, especially with only two people. However, since he was dealing Amanda's cards from the top of the deck, and his own from the bottom, Jake felt confident that a victory wasn't too far off.
He anted with his sparrow feather. She tossed in a hankie she'd dug out of her skirt pocket. The scrap of cloth was made up of crisp white cotton and frothy white lace. It was also monogrammed, he noted; her initial landed topside. The intricately stitched A was staring him right in the face, like a challenge itching to be met.
It defied rhyme or reason, it certainly defied logic, but Jake had a sudden, overpowering urge to win that hankie. Instinct said that she was the one who'd labored over those perfect, tiny stitches. In the cloud of smoke shifting around his face, Jake pictured her golden head bent to the task, her brow furrowed in concentration, her hands plying the needle with the same casual skill his brought to wielding a knife. He suspected the embroidery wasn't a labor of love; she didn't seem the type to enjoy such a dreary task. Still, it was hers, it was personal, and... dammit, he wanted it! To hell with the corset. The lady could asphyxiate herself trying to ride and breathe tomorrow, with his blessing. Tonight, he wanted that damn hankie.
Amanda leaned forward and frowned. Now what, she wondered, had put that hot silver glint in Jake's eyes? She didn't know, wasn't even sure she wanted to find out. "I said one hair ribbon to you, Mr. Chandler."
"Jake," he replied sharply. "When I'm thinking dirty thoughts about you, call me Jake."
Amanda's mouth snapped shut. Her spine went rigid. Well, that certainly put her in her place, now didn't it? Despite her resolve not to, she wondered what dirty thoughts Jake was entertaining. Just as swiftly, she decided she would be better off never finding out.
It didn't take Amanda long to realize that there was something about this hand of poker that made it different from the previous ones. Jake was playing differently. Betting differently. Recklessly. She could feel the determination in him, could almost smell it in the piney, tobacco-scented air.
Until now he hadn't really been trying, she suspected. Now he was playing to win. When he ran out of the clothes he was wearing, he started betting those in his saddlebag. It was against the rules, but she allowed it. At the rate he'd been losing, the man was in for a long, chilly winter.
Amanda glanced at her cards. It was time to draw. She had the option of discarding three out of five equally unpromising cards. She should think about retreating gracefully. In other words, she should fold.
Frowning thoughtfully, she took stock of all she'd bet so far. Her hair ribbon, two stockings, her pantaloons, and her corset covering. All except the corset covering could be removed somewhat inconspicuously. The next thing to go, if she stayed in the game, would be her blouse. Followed by her chemise. Followed by her skirt. Followed by her... corset.
Her corset!
That corset's coming off. Tonight.
Jake's words shot though Amanda's mind like a bullet. Her thoughtful frown turned into an irritated scowl. So that's what he was up to, why he'd suggested the game of strip poker. The rat wanted her corset! Amanda didn't know why she hadn't realized it sooner. It all seemed glaringly obvious to her now. In hindsight, didn't everything?
"Your bet, princess." Jake took one last deep pull off his cigarette, then flicked it away. Neither noticed the fiery red arc it made through the night. "Well?"
"I'm thinking," Amanda evaded, nibbling her lower lip as she studied her cards. Two of hearts, ten of diamonds, six of hearts, ten of clubs, eight of hearts. In other words, a disorganized mess. Too bad twos weren't wild. Still, she did have three fresh cards coming, and there was a chance, just a small one, that this hand would come together for her yet.