Montana Wildfire (26 page)

The lump in his throat slid up and down with a thick swallow when Amanda's gaze skimmed over it, then the hard line of his jaw. Her attention settled on his mouth, and stopped. With the tip of her tongue, she moistened her suddenly dry lips. It had been so long since he'd last kissed her... and yet she remembered the unique feel and taste of him, the unleashed hunger and urgency, as though no time had passed at all.

Jake's groan melted like a drop of warm honey down Amanda's spine. His lips were close, so temptingly close. She felt the heat of his rapid, shallow breaths burn over her skin. She had only to hike her chin up a notch to have her mouth settle comfortably beneath his. If she dared.

Amanda was not so brave. Alluring though the thought of kissing Jake again was, she couldn't do it. She was afraid to. Initiating that sort of intimacy would leave her vulnerable and open to yet another rejection. What if he refused to kiss her, the way he'd refused that morning in the woods? What if he turned his back on her again?

Yes, Amanda, what then?

Why, she would shrivel up and die on the spot.
That's
what would happen if Jake spurned her again; her feelings were that strong, the situation was that simple. No, she amended, when Jake Chandler was involved nothing was ever simple.

Amanda forced her attention from his lips, and met his gaze. His eyes were still dark, but the murderous light had been doused. Another, stronger emotion flamed in its place.

"Are you coming with me to the cabin?" she asked softly, breathlessly. Her fingers, hooked over his shoulders, relaxed. Without her permission, her hands skated over the width of his shoulders, then sandwiched his neck between her palms. She was acutely aware of the ridged scar beneath her fingertips, and the matching one carved into his soul.

Jake's pulse throbbed against the feel of her hand—the beat rapid and reckless. Amanda's heartbeat thundered in response.

"No, Amanda, I'm not going with you." His grip on her arms loosened, then melted away. He hesitated. In what seemed to be a reluctant gesture, his left hand stole possessively around her waist, pinning her close when the movement of their horses threatened to drag them apart. He fingered her braid, then with smooth, liquid motions, wrapped the thick plait around his fist.

"Why, Jake? Why won't you come to the cabin?"

He shook his head, his gaze dropping to her mouth for just a second before returning to her eyes. "You wouldn't understand."

"Because I'm white," she stated flatly.

"That's part of it," he said, his voice careful, controlled.

"And the other part?"

"Because right now I can only think of one thing I want you to be doing with that perfect little mouth of yours, lady. And talking sure as hell ain't it."

A blast of heat bolted down Amanda's spine. Unconsciously, she leaned closer to the warmth and promise of Jake Chandler. Her chin lifted, and she lessened the distance between their mouths. "Only one, Jake?" she asked huskily.

The barest trace of a grin tugged at his lips. It was, she realized dazedly, one of Jake's few genuine smiles. She had no time to savor the sight, for at that moment her gaze met his, and she saw his eyes flash with carnal suggestion. "I stand corrected. Make that two."

Her hands slipped around his neck, her fingers tangling in the long, rain-damped hair secured at his nape. Each strand felt baby-smooth and fine, like silk as it teased her palms and knuckles. Her body hummed with an urgent need she couldn't even begin to understand. Her spine arched of its own accord, and she pressed more closely to his hot, hard, male firmness.

"Kiss me, Jake," she whispered oh, so softly. "Please." Her lashes started to swoop heavily downward. Jake's next words snapped them back up again.

"Un-uh, princess," he rasped.
"You
kiss
me."

Prudish Bostonian morals be damned, if this man wanted her to kiss him, if that was the only way Amanda could taste the wild, intoxicating flavor of him again, then so be it. She'd take the initiative gladly, pay any consequences, because she had to taste him again. Right here, right now. She
had
to!

The leather strip gave away as, her gaze locked with passion-darkened silver, she buried her fingers in his damp hair and cupped his head in her open palms. She lifted her chin, slowly, her lips parting. With an airy sigh of surrender, she gently sealed their mouths together.

Their lips had barely touched when the arm around her waist convulsed. Jake clamped her hard against his chest, as though he was afraid now that they were joined, she would become frightened and try to pull away. He wouldn't,
couldn't,
allow that. Not yet.

The hand fisting her braid tugged, angling her head back even as his tipped forward. His mouth opened, his tongue stroked and teased, insisting hers to do the same. When she did, his mouth ravished hers.

Three days of pent-up desire had whet his appetite. Passion flamed instantly. It felt hot and bubbly inside of him, raging at a fevered pitch, humming through his body and tightening like an iron-hard fist in the more integral parts of him.

He was no longer merely kissing her. His severely weakened restraint wouldn't allow tenderness. Instead, he devoured her soft, moist, willing lips. When she opened for him, he plunged his tongue into her mouth and fed off her honeyed taste like a man parched.

The thrust of her breasts against his chest—firm and oh, so temptingly round—was a bittersweet torture. Even as his fingers flexed, he fought the urge to find the buttons concealing her from his needy palms, fought the urge to rip free the flimsy barrier separating flesh from hot, hungry flesh.

He couldn't do that. He couldn't lose that much control over himself, but... Dammit! It was hard to show restraint, especially when her tasty little tongue stole into his mouth and began a slow, timid investigation. How could he not touch her when her delicious body was arching into his, begging him to do exactly that? Touch her... all over... again and again.

Jake wasn't stupid. He'd lain with enough women to know when one wanted him. Yet he couldn't remember a time when any woman had wanted him this badly. Lord knows
he'd
never wanted a woman to the extent he wanted this one. Here. Now. Fast and hard. The need to claim and possess ate at him, consumed him. He wanted Amanda, and
only
Amanda. He wanted to be buried inside of her, to feel her hot and wet and tight around him. He wanted her in a variety of ways that would probably have shocked her to the prim Bostonian core. And he wanted it all so badly he ached!

The more he kissed her, the more passionately she responded, the more real those possibilities became. And the more the sharply drawn line between past and future blurred, the rules of the game grew hazy. Reality, consequences faded to insignificance.

Jake delved his tongue into her mouth. His savage, claiming strokes fed the fire that was burning out of control inside them both. But it wasn't enough. Dear God, it wasn't enough!

She arched into him, he swallowed her groan. He deepened the kiss, she swallowed his own low, tortured moan.

He could have her now. Amanda was hot and willing in his arms. Exactly the way he wanted her. Exactly the way he'd dreamed she would be. She wouldn't fight, she would surrender. Rain be damned, she would not turn him away. Her sweet lips moving beneath his, giving as good as she got; her tantalizing body moving hungrily against his, pleading without using words; all of it said he could take her now, make her his. He could pull her down from the mare and join her on the hard, moist ground. He could finally,
finally
soothe the empty, hollow ache this woman's mere presence carved inside of him. If he dared, he could find out how it felt to have her forbidden white flesh skim like silk beneath his rough copper palm.

Jake remembered how her nipple had pebbled to hardness for him once before. His fingertips burned with the memory. Oh, hell, who was he kidding? His
entire body
burned with it! With need. For her. He could learn what the lush fullness of her breast
really
felt like now, without the obstruction of cloth, without barriers.

Memories circled in his mind—sharp, biting pictures that haunted—but they were swiftly being banished by all the frustrated fantasies that rushed to the fore. The prospect of taking Amanda Lennox to his bed was impossible to resist. He wanted her.
Her,
dammit! And he wanted her now. He wanted to know what it felt like to have her long white legs wrapped around his hips as he pumped his life into her. He wanted,
needed
to take her, to feel her heal the hurt inside of him in ways that Jake sensed only she could.

He should resist. Should, but couldn't. He
had
to know what it was like to be an integral part of this woman. Just once. Because the three days—the three hellishly long nights—of wondering had nearly driven him insane. The unbearable desire surging through his body said he was only human. A man could only take so much, and he'd already taken his fair share. He simply could not face needing her this badly another second.

From the way she was moving urgently against him, it was what Amanda wanted too. Even if she didn't quite know it yet.

She shifted. Her hands skimmed his shoulders, then dipped beneath the open collar of Jake's shirt.

The decision, if there ever really had been one, was made. The way her choppy, almost confused sounding sigh rang in his ears was an unnecessary confirmation that, while what he was about to do wasn't exactly right, he was going to
—had
to—do it anyway. Consequences be damned. What was going to happen had been a foregone conclusion—an inevitability—since the second he'd slipped his hands beneath that frigid river-water to free her ankle from the tree branch.

He'd wanted her then.

He wanted her more now.

And he was going to have her. Damned if he wasn't!

The male in him was wild with hunger, driven by urges too essential to deny. Primitive needs rushed to the fore. They had no rhyme or reason. They were too strong and consuming to ignore or deny.

He was going to have her, going to make her his. God help him, he was going to possess this lady—this
white
lady—right here, right now.

The sun peeked from behind a water-heavy cloud, warming the cool breeze that puffed over Amanda's skin, warming the drops of rain that sprinkled her cheeks.

Of course, she could have been in a blizzard for all she would have noticed. Jake was kissing her—deeply, hungrily, as though he never intended to
stop
kissing her. His mouth ate at hers, devouring the giving softness of her lips. His hands stroked feverish paths up and down her arms. Her body burned for him to stroke her just as feverishly elsewhere. Everywhere.

If there was anything else in the world besides the two of them, Amanda didn't notice. She'd waited so long for this moment. She wouldn't let herself be distracted.

Jake's fingers, riding her waist, tightened as he deepened the kiss, lightened it, then deepened it yet again. Amanda snuck her hands under the collar of his shirt. The muscles gliding beneath her fingertips bunched and flexed with his every move, proof of his dormant strength. It was odd that she didn't feel frightened or intimidated by that, the way she had been by his fury. Considering the circumstances, she should be scared senseless. And that, she thought, was exactly the problem. When Jake Chandler held her like this, kissed and touched her like this, she simply could not think straight. Nor did she want to.

Their mouths hungrily locked, Jake shifted and lifted Amanda off of the mare. He turned her slightly, and settled her in front of him atop the white. The animal felt strong and solid beneath her, but not as strong and solid as the big hand that settled possessively on her hip. She sucked in a ragged breath when Jake dragged her up against his chest, tightly, as though he was trying to melt her through his clothes, into his warm flesh. His fingers curled into her bottom as he molded the side of her hip into the wedge of his parted thighs. The firmness of the horse felt as soft as sun-warm clay when compared to the hard strength of Jake's body, pressing against her.

Jake pulled back only far enough for his tongue to stop plundering Amanda's mouth. His appetite momentarily appeased, he seemed content to let the very tip of his tongue skim her kiss-swollen lips. He licked and savored, sipping at the hot sweetness of her mouth without launching a second invasion. Yet.

While one hand hovered near her waist—the fingers flexing and releasing the wrinkled calico, tunneling possessively into the soft white flesh beneath—his other hand slipped behind her back. His palm stroked a path of fire up her spine, then hooked over a slender shoulder. He yanked her so close their frantic heartbeats entwined.

"Remember the kiss?" His hot, moist tongue stroked her lips between each huskily whispered word. "The first kiss, princess. The one we were supposed to put behind us and forget."