Montan a Wildfire

Jake's "lesson" replayed itself in her mind as she worked the stick. Amanda remembered everything; his words, his husky-rich tone, the way his cheek felt when it grazed hers, the way his sinewy chest and taut hips felt molded to her back and bottom. Everything.

Yet even though she followed his instructions to the letter, the stubborn fire refused to light.

Amanda cursed—vividly, aloud—and felt surprisingly better. Jake Chandler, she decided, was having quite a corrupting affect on her.

Sitting back on her heels, she glared at the pile of wood. It glared tauntingly back at her. She thought about how badly she wanted the fire lit, how much she needed to prove, if only to herself, that she wasn't a complete incompetent.

She sighed, her gaze sliding over her surroundings. The clearing was bathed in moonlight and shadows. Jake still wasn't back, and she didn't think he would be for a while yet. She still had time.

Her attention snagged on his saddlebag, and a crafty grin curled over her lips. So what if it was cheating? It would get the job done, wouldn't it? And Jake would never have to know.

Chapter 9

"So. You ever play poker, princess?" The spoon paused on the way to Amanda's mouth. Her green eyes lifted, and her gaze meshed with probing silver. "What?"

"Poker," he repeated flatly as he set his empty plate on the grass beside his hip. "Strip poker, to be exact. Ever play it?"

"I... well, actually—" Amanda snapped her mouth shut. Was it a lucky guess, she wondered, or did Jake know more about her than she'd thought? No, of course not. How could he? Then again... The fact remained that it was Amanda's skill with that particular card game that had prompted Miss Henry to ask her to leave school. The night Amanda had impulsively taught her friends at the Academy how to play, however, the only clothes that had come off belonged to cherished dolls. Somehow, she doubted that was what Jake Chandler had in mind.

The thought had no more receded when her spoon slipped from her suddenly slack fingers and clattered to her plate. Amanda scowled and glanced away. What little enthusiasm she'd worked up for the chewy jerky and tinny tasting beans evaporated like mist.

Jake grinned. Damn, but he liked it when she blushed! He liked it a lot. On one hand he could count the number of women he'd ever seen do that. Four had used an inspired flush as an entrapment measure; not even close to being spontaneous. Cynthia had too, but he'd been too blind to see it that way. He'd been so sure she was different, so sure her blushes were genuine. Only once he was in too deep had he realized the truth.

Amanda, for some insane reason, was different. Jake thought he must have developed a cruel streak somewhere along the line, because he found he actually enjoyed watching the sweet pink color peek up from beneath her collar, spread swiftly up her neck, splash over her regally carved cheeks and seep all the way up to her honey-gold hairline.

Amanda set her meal aside. There was no way the tasteless food was going to find an easy path down her drier-than-dry throat now. It took effort to keep her spoon from clanking against the tin plate—her hands were shaking quite badly—but she managed. She dipped her head, hoping the muted moonlight and firelight weren't bright enough to betray the hot color in her cheeks. "I've... heard of the game, Mr. Chandler."

"Have you? Good. Wanna learn how to play it?"

Amanda surprised herself by giving the ludicrous suggestion serious thought. When Jake had returned to the clearing earlier, his mood had been almost hostile. He'd barely spoken to her, and he hadn't looked at her at all. He was talking to her now, and he seemed congenial enough. For reasons she refused to scrutinize, Amanda was desperate to keep things this way.

Still... strip poker?!

In her mind's eye, she saw Miss Henry wagging a long, bony index finger and shaking her snowy head in stern disapproval. "No," Amanda said finally, if a bit stiffly, "not particularly."

"C'mon, princess, unlace those corset strings a bit, would you? It's only a card game. Something to pass the time. And you never know... it might be fun."

One golden brow arched skeptically high. "Fun? You think taking off our clothes in a card game would be fun?"

Jake's grin was wicked and quick. "I said might be fun. I take it you don't think so?"

Actually...

Amanda brought herself up short. What was she thinking? But, of course, she already knew. The thoughts spinning through her head were decidedly unladylike. And highly intriguing. "Why don't we play a game of gin?" she suggested hopefully. "That's a nice, refined game. We can play for... oh, I don't know. Money, possessions, whatever. But not clothes."

Jake sighed and shook his head. "First off, I'm not feeling 'refined' tonight, princess. Second, the only money I want is what you owe me." His eyes narrowed, darkened, swept her body. "And the only thing you've got that I want is... against the rules." Slowly, slowly, his gaze blazed a warm path back to hers. "I like my idea better."

"Spoken like a true man. However—"

"What's the problem, princess? Afraid of losing your shirt? Is that it? Or are you just afraid... of me?"

His tone—soft, cajoling, challenging—reminded Amanda of a cut-crystal snifter of brandy. While the liquor looked creamy and smooth inside the glass, it was only once it washed over the tastebuds that the bite could be felt.

Jake's grin broadened. He watched the play of her thoughts on her face—she was so damn easy read—and he liked what he saw. Her prim resolve was starting to crumble. He almost, almost, had her where he wanted her.

Well, no, that was a lie. Where he wanted her was beneath him, surrounding him, all hot and wet and tight, her long white legs wrapped around his hips, urging him closer, deeper. While Jake knew damn well he wasn't ever going to get that close to her—not if he had any brains—at least if he could get her to play cards he could see what self-preservation demanded he miss. No doubt it would make the missing it part that much harder... but, hell, it was worth it. He wanted, needed, to feast his eyes on her silky white skin, her unbound hair. Just once, just for a little while, he wanted to see what the forbidden looked like. He had a feeling it would look like perfection. Like Amanda Lennox.

He watched her scowl, knowing how close she was to relenting. She was tempted to accept the dare, and Jake couldn't honestly say he was surprised. From the first he'd sensed in her a passionate inner spirit swaddled beneath layers of prissy formality. It was only a matter time. All he had to do was play on it, turn it to his own best advantage, appeal to the fiery little imp in her, the one buried and too-long ignored.