Montana Wildfire (4 page)

Amanda blinked hard. Dear God, the man really was going to desert her.
The rotten bastard!

She didn't realize she'd said the words aloud until she saw him stop. His shoulders squared. His back stiffened. Even from this distance, she could see tension pull the muscles in his back, shoulders, and arms taut.

"Come again, princess?"

Since it was too late to deny it—the damage was already done—Amanda sucked in a deep breath and repeated herself, loudly, and clearly enough so he would have no doubt as to what she'd just called him.

"Goddamn. That's what I thought you said." He sucked in a sigh and released it in a slow hiss. Then he shook his head—regretfully? she doubted it—and plucked off the hat. With a flick of his wrist, he sent it hurling to the grass. "Guess I'm going have to fetch you out of there after all."

There was something in his tone—too calm, too leashed—that sent a shiver down her spine. Amanda couldn't pinpoint the underlying emotion he'd stressed, and, as she watched him again tug off the deerskin moccasins, she stopped trying. Before she knew it, he was trudging through the water toward her. Forcing herself not to shiver in dread took all her concentration.

Wondering what had made him change his mind, she glanced up.

He glanced down.

Silver and green warred, and in that instant Amanda knew exactly why he'd decided to free her. His eyes were narrowed to steely slits. His jaw was bunched hard, and a muscle ticked beneath the high copper plane of his cheekbone. As she watched, his lips thinned into a tight, uncompromising line.

Calling him a bastard had hit a sore spot with him. The man was quietly furious. Worse—much, much worse—all that tightly leashed anger was directed at her. The knowledge seemed a good enough reason for Amanda to flinch when he stopped so close his chest threatened to graze the very tips of her breasts.

"I-I'll tell you my name," she offered, and winced when her voice squeaked.

"Don't bother. Where are you stuck?"

Swallowing hard, she fixed her gaze on one of the flat metal buttons trailing down his shirt. As for the tight bands of muscle rippling beneath the dark blue cloth... well, she refused to notice them at all. "Amanda Lennox. That's my name."

"That's dandy. I repeat: Where are you stuck?" His hand came out of nowhere. His index finger hooked under her chin, dragging her gaze up. His warm, sweet breath blasted over her face when he said, "Better give some thought to answering me this time, princess. You've got exactly ten seconds to tell me what's going on under this water. After that, my hands start doing some exploring of their own."

"My right leg," she whispered hoarsely, trying to ignore the way his calloused thumb was stroking the very tip of her chin—as well as the way her skin smoldered in response. "Actually it's my foot. It's stuck in... something. I don't know what."

"What does it feel like?" His hand turned inward, slipping lower. His thumb nestled the base of her throat, pushing against the pulse that leapt wildly in the creamy hollow. The rest of his fingers hooked behind her neck. He exerted no pressure.

"A hole," she said, her voice so shaky and soft now it was almost nonexistent. "It feels like a hole."

"What kind of hole?"

"A-oh!"

A change in the current pulled their bodies together, then just as quickly pulled them apart.

She gasped.

He tensed.

A strained moment passed. Time was marked by the cold water lapping at their bodies.

His hand dropped away. Amanda almost cried with relief... until she felt those same strong fingers hauling her water-heavy skirt and petticoat up to her waist. Her knees buckled.

"Goda'mighty, lady, stand up, open your eyes, and pay some attention to what we're doing here. That's better. Now, hold this damn thing out of my way."

The "damn thing" in question was her skirt. He coaxed her cold, waterlogged fingers around fistfuls of the saturated cloth. Amanda wasn't sure which was worse; holding her skirt up so a complete stranger could have free access to her naked legs, or watching the man's head dip as he hunkered down in the water and pressed his cheek against her stomach. His breaths seeped through the damp cloth in rhythmic waves, searing the sensitive flesh beneath like a white-hot brand.

He shifted, pressing closer. Amanda almost toppled over. Only the sinewy arm he coiled around her waist kept her upright. The feel of his warm, slippery fingers skimming beneath the hem of her skirt did not fortify her liquidy knees.

His fingers caressed her naked thigh as he adjusted her weight, moving her until her abdomen ground against his shoulder. Against her will, her gaze dipped. The water lapped at a spot below his shoulder blades, soaking the tips of his hair and making the fringe ride the twisting currents. He didn't seem to notice that. She, on the other hand, noticed everything; like the way his hand strayed very slowly over the outer curve of her hip and down her thigh, the way his fingers tickled past the back of her knee, then slid unhurriedly down her calf.

When he reached her ankle, Amanda noticed something else. Pain, and a lot of it. She winced and put her hands on his shoulders for balance. Her fingers curled inward, making deep grooves in his hard, unyielding flesh. She didn't cry out until she felt his fingertips probe her tender, swollen ankle.

"That hurt?" he asked.

"God, yes!"

He sighed.

She shivered, but this time entirely from pain.

"All right. I'll try and be gentle, but... Jesus, lady, how the hell'd you get your foot stuck in a tree?"

His voice was muffled from where his mouth pressed into the side of her waist. Amanda felt every movement of his lips. Oddly enough, that overrode the pain stabbing up her leg, as well as the disgust that was evident in his tone.

She glanced down, intending to glare him into silence. The thought wilted when she saw the way they were entwined. The water licked at their bodies like a lover's caress. His arms were around her, pinning her intimately close. She could feel each breath rush from his chest. The way she was forced to either arch her hips into him or risk tumbling backward was... well, it was indecent. It was also shockingly nice.

The tightening of his body said she wasn't the only one to think so. "I can't pull your ankle out—it's too swollen," he said gruffly "I'll have to cut the bark away. Think you can hold still long enough?"

"Do I have a choice?"

He pulled back only far enough to glance up at her. "You want to get out any time soon?" She nodded. "Then no, you don't have a choice. Hold still. It'd be a damn shame if I cut into all that sweet white skin of yours instead of bark."

He shifted, and she caught a glimpse of what he planned to use for the job. The blade of the knife was shaped like a long, thick triangle, the metal shiny and razor sharp. In length, the blade alone rivaled the span of his forearm, and his forearm was not short. The sight of water dripping off deadly metal convinced her not to move a muscle—even when she felt his palm stroke hot paths up and down the back of her calf. His other hand, she noticed dazedly, was trying to work her free. He seemed to be in no great hurry.

"I've got the fire started," Roger called from the bank, causing Amanda to start and glance up sharply.

The man stiffened. "You get the blankets ready?"

"No."

"Christ, that kid's useless," he grumbled so only Amanda could hear. She fought a grin as, louder, he yelled, "What the hell you waiting for? Go get them. Come back when you're done."

Amanda recognized the indignant lift to Roger's chin. She braced herself for the argument to come, knowing the stranger wasn't as familiar with the boy's obstinacy as she was.

"And what, pray tell, will you be doing while I'm fetching blankets?" Roger called out.

"I'll be tanning your backside if you don't get a move on, brat. If you want to sit down anytime in the next month, you'll do as you're told.
Now!"
The man shifted, glancing over his shoulder at the boy who stood, fists straddling hips, on the bank. While Amanda couldn't see the stranger's eyes at this angle, Roger's suddenly pale cheeks spoke volumes. For an unprecedented third time that day, Roger scurried away.

The man bent back to his task. Beneath the churning water Amanda felt gentle tugs on her numb, swollen ankle... and a peculiar, scraping sensation when his free hand rose. Without permission or apology, he boldly skimmed the inside of her left thigh. His strokes were smooth, sure, and indecently high. The breath she had been inhaling clogged in her lungs. It pushed free in a rush when he released her and abruptly stood.

"All set," he announced as, without warning, he bent at the waist and hoisted her into his arms.

"Good heavens, what are you doing?" she demanded, even as her arms slipped around the thick trunk of his neck. She hadn't given her hands permission to do that. Then again, she hadn't given her body permission to snuggle into his hard male warmth, but she was doing that, too. And it felt rather nice, now that she thought about it. Amanda tried
not
to think about it.

"What am I doing? Isn't it obvious?"

"Well... yes." And, of course, it was. He was carrying her, plain and simple. Yet, there wasn't a plain thing about the firm, wet chest plastered tightly against her. Nor was there anything at all simple in the way her body automatically,
willingly,
reacted by curling trustingly into his.

Amanda drew in a shaky breath. His earthy smell and furnace-like heat engulfed her, flooding her whirling senses. Her protests weakened under the sharp male onslaught. "Please, Mr... will you put me down? I can walk."

"Not on that ankle, you can't," he said, and continued to splash through the water, carrying her as though she weighed no more than a wet kitten.

He reached the bank and scaled the incline without upsetting his balance. Their waterlogged clothes seemed no hindrance to his innate agility. The grass made nary a crunch beneath his bare feet as he carried her to the miserly fire Roger had built. Then he knelt and lowered her effortlessly to the sun-warmed grass.

His chin lifted, his penetrating silver gaze scanning the trees. His sigh of disgust felt hot as it rushed over her face and neck. "Where the hell is that good-for-nothing kid? He should be back by now."

Her reply came from between chattering teeth. "You don't know... Roger too well. We'll be lucky if he ever comes back. And you... can forget the blankets. He won't bring them."

His gaze sliced back to her, his expression one of slightly veiled surprise. And then he noticed the way she shivered, the cold eating at her from the inside out. His gaze narrowed. His oaths were vivid, long, and graphic.

"I'll get the blankets," he growled, thrusting to his feet.

Amanda watched him swagger away and again was reminded of a wolf on the hunt. She shivered, but even when she looked away, her mind was filled with his lean, wet back and the way his saturated hair swayed with each step.

In all her life, she'd never known a man who dared to wear his hair so long. Funny, but, like the braid, on him she found the style oddly appealing. Flagrantly unconventional, wild and untamed... like the man himself.

When he returned a short few minutes later, she was huddled into a tight ball on the ground, as close as she could get to the fire without being burned. The heat was insufficient. She was cold to the bone, and, to make an already bad situation worse, the numbness in her legs was gone. Not only did her bad ankle throb, but the rush of returning circulation made it sting unbearably.

She was vaguely aware of something warm and heavy being tossed over her. She snuggled into the covering greedily, barely noticing when the blanket was tucked around her. A corner of her mind knew without looking that the hands slipping over her body would be big and strong and coppery.

He didn't stop there. Amanda gasped when she felt his arms slip beneath her. He lifted her easily, shifted, then settled her atop the solid cushion of his lap. She stiffened, but his palm, cradling the back of her neck, coaxed her cheek to the firm pillow of his chest. His arms wrapped around her like steel bands, locking her into place against him.

Amanda knew she should protest the way he was holding her—even if he was only doing it to share warmth. And she would have, had it not been for the way his virile heat burned away her chill. His inviting warmth made pushing him away just a brief, passing thought. One she barely considered, and didn't act upon.

It took forever for her trembling to pass, but it was the most wonderful forever Amanda had ever spent.

She felt a warm cheek graze the crown of her head when she nuzzled her head into the hollow beneath his shoulder. His heartbeat was a strong, steady tempo in her ears. That, combined with the draining excitement of the morning and this man's comforting warmth, lulled her into a deep state of relaxation.

"Oh, no you don't. Don't you dare fall asleep on me now, Amanda Lennox," he grumbled hotly against her scalp. "We've still got some name-calling to talk out between us."

The words were like a splash of cold water. Amanda went rigid in his arms.