"Amanda..."
"All right! Yes, Mr. Chandler, as a matter of fact I lost my shirt. Do you want it this second, or could you wait while I go behind those pine trees to take it off?"
At some point, Jake had picked up her hanky. Amanda's gaze snagged on his fingers. Was he conscious of the way he was caressing the white-on-white monogram? She certainly was. Very conscious of it.
He pursed his lips and shook his head. "I think you've missed the point of the game, princess."
"And what point is that?"
"They don't call it strip poker for nothing." His gaze lifted, and burned into hers. "I want to watch."
Amanda was glad she was already sitting, for the way his words drove through her buckled her knees. "How... vulgar."
"Yup." Jake laid back, his inky head cradled in his palms. Her hanky made a crisp splash of white atop his dark chest. The scrap of cloth was covering his heart. He said lazily, "Strip, Miss Lennox. I want my winnings."
Jake didn't think she would do it. Oh, he hoped she would—hell, yes—but he doubted it. What he did expect was for her to try and fast-talk him out of it. That, he was prepared for. He knew exactly what he was going to say when she started crying—the way any properly raised white lady worth her salt would do if found in a similar situation.
Oddly enough, Amanda Lennox didn't look like she was going to cry. Nor did she appear overly intimidated when she pushed to her feet and glared down at him.
What her stance lacked in meekness it made up for in the way of pride. Her chin was tilted in that haughty way of hers that never ceased to... annoy him. He thought that if her spine got any stiffer it would snap. H
er shoulders were squared, her jaw hard, her expression set with quiet fury. Her green eyes snapped with defiance as she lifted her fingers—trembling only slightly—to the top button of her blouse.
It was Jake's turn to be glad he wasn't standing. Christ, she was really going to do it. He'd thought he would be able to go through with this, he really did. But now that the moment was at hand, he couldn't. His restraint was shot; raw and chafed. If she finished unbuttoning that blouse...
"Don't." He was on his feet in a heartbeat. His silent steps cleared the space between them in two. She gasped when he ensnared her slender wrist in his fist, but Jake didn't care. Scaring her right now was the least of his problems. Amanda had managed to work the top three buttons free. The wedge of tempting white flesh she'd revealed was killing him. Another button and he'd be lost. His voice went husky and gruff. "Just give me the damn corset and we'll call it even, okay?"
She kept her gaze trained on the hand he'd coiled about her wrist. Her tone was edged with suspicion. "But I have to take off the shirt to get to it."
"Yeah, you do, don't you? Dammit!" Jake inhaled sharply and glanced around. He scratched the underside of his chin with his free hand, his gaze fixing on the trees she'd mentioned earlier. He nodded briskly toward them. "Go ahead. I promise not to peek." Silently he added, Hell, I don't trust myself that much. And with damn good reason!
While Amanda was confused, she certainly wasn't stupid. Jake was offering her a graceful way out of this mess, and she wasn't about to waste time asking questions. Nodding, she slipped her hand from the shackle of his calloused fingers. Clutching her collar together, she limped toward the cover of pine trees before Jake changed his mind. She was halfway there when his voice called out from behind, stopping her cold.
"You realize you could have won, don't you, princess?"
"I could have?" She nibbled her lower lip. "How?"
"I was... out of funds. You could have bet your chemise in perfect safety, thereby forcing me out of the game."
"Really?" Her head was spinning, and her knees felt weak and shaky. She could have won?
"Yup. I guess the next obvious question is... why didn't you?"
It was an honest question. For once, Amanda gave him an honest answer. Glancing over her shoulder, she met Jake's gaze. Even though he was standing mostly in shadow, his eyes were hot and probing, savagely bright. "My father taught me to play games fairly, Mr. Chandler. He didn't believe in cut-throat anything. It's an opinion we shared."
"Strange man, your daddy. I'd like to meet him someday."
"Yes, well..." Amanda glanced away, not wanting him to see the pain in her eyes, not wanting to have to explain it. If Jake asked, she'd be forced to lie to him again, and for some insane reason she didn't want to do that.
When he didn't comment, she walked toward the trees, as glad for the distance separating herself from the confusion that was Jacob Blackhawk Chandler as she was for the privacy itself.
Getting out of the corset was simple compared to putting the painful contraption on. She returned to the clearing in no time.
Jake was gone, as was the pile of his clothes she had won.
The knife sank into the tree trunk with a satisfying thunk.
Jake watched the hilt waver from the force of the collision. Moonlight caught on what little of the blade wasn't buried in bark. Silently, he retrieved the knife. Gritty bark clung to the long, deadly blade, he wiped it off on his pants leg, but then instead of sheathing it, stared at the bright metal.