Montan a Wildfire

"You know you want to," he coaxed.

Amanda remembered last night—Jake naked and wet and proud—and thought that, yes, she wanted to all right. Much more than good sense decreed she should. Her chin notched up; she hoped the gesture looked more determined than it felt. "No, Mr. Chandler, I'm afraid I know no such thing."

He shrugged, and Amanda's gaze snagged on the small brown feather resting against his breastbone. The feather shifted with every supple movement of his body. A gust of the cool night breeze tossed his hair back from his face, billowing the strands around Jake's shoulders like a thick, inky curtain. Firelight danced over his face, sculpting, defining, accentuating hollows while softening rigid bone structure. The diffused orange glow stroked his skin, making it glisten a rich shade of bronze. His eyes trapped the firelight and sent it stabbing back at her, stabbing into her.

He looked raw, wild and savage, untamable. Oddly enough, Amanda no longer felt frightened or threatened by him. Perhaps that was because he wasn't currently angry with her? Yes, that had to be the reason. His leashed fury was where most of her fear originated. With the fury gone, her fear had dissipated. Well, most of it had, anyway.

Jake sensed correctly that if he gave her too m

uch time to think, she'd make the wrong choice. Leaning to the side, he began rummaging through his saddlebag. "You can shuffle while I explain the rules, okay? Er—you do know how to shuffle, don't you, princess?"

Amanda took offense. "Of course."

"Good. Here, catch."

Something landed in her lap. Amanda gasped when her mind flashed her an image of the last thing Jake Chandler had thrown her way. A snake! She grimaced and, after a brief hesitation, mustered the courage to glance downward. A pack of unbound cards were strewn atop the wrinkled calico skirt covering her thighs.

Her hands were still trembling a moment later when she picked up the cards, stacked them evenly, then automatically cut and started shuffling them. It had been a while since she'd played, yet the cards felt good, familiar in her hands. "Gin?"

"Not hardly."

Well, that was going to be a problem, then. Amanda knew she should warn Jake that, win or lose, she was not going to take her clothes off, but the idea of playing just a few hands of cards was too tempting a distraction to pass up. After last night, she decided it would be best if they kept themselves occupied. Cards would be a good pastime, so long as she could convince Jake that she wouldn't disrobe after removing a few unrevealing articles. She felt confident she could do that. Deceptively, so.

Jake's steely eyes narrowed. Amanda's fingers were working the cards with fluid familiarity. That was his first sign that he was being had. The woman might not know much about poker—that had yet to be seen—but she damn well knew her way around a deck of cards! Filing that bit of information away—and thanking God he hadn't agreed to play gin!—he said gruffly, "We'll start off with something simple. The game's five card straight. No draws, no wilds, no opens. We'll ante with our," he grinned wickedly when her eyes rounded, "shoes."

"You are planning to explain all those terms, I hope?" she murmured sweetly. She stopped shuffling long enough to unlace and pull off one shoe. A scuffed but fashionable high-laced ankle boot joined one doeskin moccasin on the carpet of grass between them.

"I'll explain as we go," he griped, waving her on. "Just deal."

Amanda dealt. The third of Jake's cards hit his bent knee and landed face up in the grass. It was the jack of spades. She glanced up, asking with her eyes if he wanted a new card or a new deal. He shrugged, tipped the card face down with the tip of his index finger, and winked. Obviously, he wanted her to continue dealing. Strange man, she thought, and did exactly that.

After they'd each been dealt five, Amanda set the rest of the deck aside and picked up her cards. She arranged her hand meticulously, careful to be sure equal space was distributed between cards. It gave her jittery fingers something to do, and made the fan of cards so much easier to hold.

She looked up just as Jake was lifting his cards off the ground. He picked them up in no discernible order, digested them in one unemotional sweep, then set them aside, face down. She had a feeling he wouldn't look at them again.

Strange, strange man, her mind echoed as he began explaining how the winning hands were ranked. His voice, she noticed, and not for the first time, was mesmerizing. Too mesmerizing. She found herself not listening to what he said so much as how he said it. Her ears warmed to the smooth, underlying drawl, and the lazy way he had of rolling words off of his tongue.

"... think you can remember all that?"

Amanda was holding the cards high in front of her face, pretending to study them. Jake's question made her peek over the jagged top of the fan. The cards hid her grin. "Yes, Mr. Chandler, I think so. If I have questions, I'll let you know."

Was he returning her grin, she wondered, or initiating one of his own? Did it really matter? The end result was the same either way: the bottom fell out of her stomach.

"Sounds good, princess. Oh, and by the way, it's your turn. I just bet you a sock."

"Let's see. I'll bet my... hair ribbon." That seemed harmless enough.

It took effort for Jake to bite back his grin. This was working better than he'd hoped. Her hair ribbon was the first thing he wanted to see go. "Okay. I'll see your hair ribbon with my other sock, and raise you my... shirt."

Amanda swallowed hard. The man didn't waste time, did he? Now, why wasn't she surprised? She saw his bet with one of her stockings, but didn't raise him. A pair of sevens was good, yes, but nothing to bet the farm—or, in this case, the shirt off her back—for.

As it turned out, she'd risked nothing, but had oh, so much to gain. Her sevens beat his ace high.

"Does that mean I win?" She leaned forward and, grinning widely, extended her hand. She wiggled her fingers in much the same way he had this morning when he was trying to get her to surrender her gun. "I believe you owe me one pair of socks and a shirt, Mr. Chandler."

Jake paid his debt, grudgingly. Amanda could have sworn he muttered "Beginner's luck" under his breath as he wadded up the garments and tossed them to her. Of course, she might have been mistaken. It was hard to tell, because right now she was staring at his firm, lean copper chest... and even the simplest thought was rapidly turning into a complicated process.

"Same game," Jake growled, picking up the cards scattered over the ground between them. His thick fingers deftly turned them face down. "This time we'll add deuces and one-eyed's, just for variety."