Montan a Wildfire

And it did. In fact, it proved a great deal. It proved that whatever had happened between Jake and his sister, it wasn't drastic enough to overshadow what was happening between Jake and herself. It proved that he had swallowed a smidgen of that over-inflated, misplaced pride of his, enough at least to seek her out here, in his sister's house, where he obviously was not welcome. And it proved...

Amanda's gaze widened, searching his face. His expression was still tight, still strained, but his features were no longer a mask to her. Had Jake let his guard down on purpose so that she could see and read his expression? Or did she simply know him well enough now to look beyond the mask? It was difficult to say. Nor did she waste time analyzing it. It was enough to see in his eyes that he cared for her. Maybe not a lot, but a bit. It was enough for her to see that his desire for her had not been doused—as she'd feared—but whetted and aroused.

And that, Amanda decided as her own expression softened, was a good start. No one in her life had ever really cared for her. That this man did—even a little, even reluctantly—gave her something to reach for, something to cling to.

The hands she'd pillowed atop his shoulders strayed upward. She sandwiched his neck between her palms, admiring the strength she felt in a portion of his body where one would not ordinarily expect to find strength. Her hands shifted, her fingers tunneling into silky black hair that was still damp from a sprinkling of melted snow. His skin felt smooth and warm and moist beneath her palms. The scar puckering the back of his neck felt distinct when it brushed her sensitive inner wrist.

"I lied to you, princess." Jake's fingers snaked around her wrist, and tugged her hand down, satisfied only when it splayed the center of his chest. His heart throbbed a wild, erratic beat against her open palm.

"How, Jake? How did you lie to me? Why did you lie to me?"

"I said you weren't a lady, but you are. You're more of a lady than any woman I've ever known. And no, I don't know why I said it."

Their gazes locked and held. His eyes were dark and serious and sincere. Amanda's free hand was cupping his scalp. She moved it slowly to the opposite side of his neck. With the tip of her index finger she traced the jagged scar down to where it dipped beneath his collar.

He let go of her wrist and settled his hand on her shoulder. His other slipped beneath the cloak, circled her waist, and pulled her closer. Not too close, yet, but close enough for the front of their bodies to threaten contact.

"Do you want me, Jake?" Amanda asked softly, breathlessly. It wasn't a question she'd planned to ask, but now that she had, she waited breathlessly for his answer. When it didn't come immediately, she grew impatient. "Please, I need to know."

Jake saw the desperation in her eyes and knew the emotion was mirrored in his own. He knew that admitting to the desire that was clawing him up inside would be a mistake. It would give Amanda Lennox power over him, more power than any woman had ever had. And yet lying seemed an even bigger mistake. There was an odd sort of honesty crackling between them right now. It felt too new and fragile and... dammit, it just felt too damn good to tamper with!

"I... God, lady, how I want you!" His gaze strayed to her mouth—temptingly full, naturally pink—and his tongue curled in sweet anticipation. "I want you..." He scanned her neck quickly, and then his attention settled on the firm swell of her breasts. They were rising and falling quickly, with each of her rapid, ragged breaths. His heart beat faster. "I want you..." The fingers gripping her shoulder flexed as he scanned the appealing roundness of her hips, then slowly followed the same tantalizing course back up. He locked their gazes together and whispered huskily, "I want you more than I want to breathe. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes."

"And is 'wanting' enough for you?"

Amanda's gaze lowered with sudden timidity. "It shouldn't be. A decent woman would want more."

"A decent woman would demand marriage. A decent woman would demand things I can't—won't—give. Then again, a decent woman wouldn't be here with me now, would she? Are you a decent woman, Amanda Lennox? Are you going to demand those things from me?"

Amanda frowned, knowing she should demand all that and more. She also knew she wouldn't. If she did, Jake would leave her now, and maybe never come back again. While her mind might not be able to tell right from wrong anymore, her body was telling her, and telling her strongly, not to let this man go, to take what he could give and never demand more. At the moment, her body was stronger than her mind and morals.

"I demand two things from you, Jacob Blackhawk Chandler," she said finally, her gaze riveted on the damp toes of his moccasins. "I demand you finish the job I hired you to do. And I..." She swallowed hard. "I demand you love me for as long as you feel you can. Is that asking too much?"

"No, princess, it's asking for a hell of a lot less than you deserve." It was also, Jake knew, asking for all a man like him could ever hope to give a woman like her. Loving Amanda Lennox for a time, he could do. Loving her for all time... well, that wasn't allowed. That was against the rules.

The arm around her waist tightened, and he closed the scant few inches that separated them. Her cheek found a natural pillow against his shoulder. Her soft curves molded eagerly into his hardness, lighting a fire in Jake's blood wherever they touched. The scent clinging to her hair was soft and flowery in his nostrils, the smell fresh and intoxicating. He turned his head, his nose nuzzling the golden strands, breathing her in deeply.

Amanda's arms circled his neck, pulling him closer even as her body strained against him. He couldn't give her much, but he could give her this moment, this one night. If only for a little while, he could fill the yawning emptiness inside of her.

"Love me, Jake," she whispered hoarsely, her lips moving against the soft flannel of his shirt. Her hips arched, and electricity sizzled through her blood when her abdomen ground against the firm evidence of his desire. "Please, just for tonight, love me as though you mean it."

"Ah, God, yes." Holding her close, he maneuvered her back a few steps.

The edge of the table pressed against the back of Amanda's thighs. And then Jake was there, easing her backward, and she went mindlessly.

He leveled his weight on the elbows flanking her ribs, and met her hip to hip, chest to chest. Her feet didn't touch the floor; it was easy to nudge her legs apart, to wedge himself between her long, firm legs. He turned his head, and saw that their lips were mere inches apart. A slight lifting of her head, a slight lowering of his...

Jake hesitated making that last advance toward her, knowing that to do so would be to lose himself in something wonderful, something deliciously tempting, something that, by all rights, he should never have tasted once, let alone again.

Amanda had no such qualms. She wanted to experience again the magic of his kisses, the warmth of his caresses. She needed both. Maybe proper ladies didn't have needs like these, maybe they didn't enjoy a man the way she enjoyed Jake. But that was beside the point. Because Amanda was acutely aware that whenever Jake Chandler touched her, she ceased to be a lady. With one glance, he stripped away pretense. With one kiss, he peeled away years of training and ignited a flame of passion inside her.

She wanted to feel that reckless surge of passion again. Now. She needed to feel it pumping through her blood. Only once the fire had been lit and tended did she want Jake to douse it in the way that only he could.

To that end, her hands snuck around his back, under his arms. Her fingers fisted his shirt, and her gaze sought out his as she lifted her head up and very slowly, very lightly, fused their mouths together.

"Again and again," she whispered huskily against his mouth. She dragged her tongue over his tightly set lips. He tasted of tobacco and coffee; a strong, delicious male flavor—one to be cherished and savored. "For as long as it lasts, Jake. That's all I want, all I'll ask from you."