"You look fine, Amanda," Jake repeated gruffly.
"I do? Really?"
"Uh-huh. All cool and refined and... princess-like." Untouchable, was the word Jake added to himself, because it fit her better. She looked poised, regal, cold as ice. Dignified. Ladylike. White.
Jake's hand reluctantly left her thigh. Like his gaze, his fingers strayed to the golden bun she'd knotted at her nape. He stroked the tight twist of hair; it felt like spun silk under his fingertip. His gut kicked, and it was all he could do not to tug the knot free and bury his hands up to the wrists in all that flowing, fragrant softness. He wanted to nuzzle his face in her hair, to suck into his body the sweet, sweet scent that clung to every sunlit strand.
He didn't do it, of course. It had taken her so much time to pin the thick, heavy tresses up, and she'd probably have a fit if he pulled it all down now. But the urge was there, and it was damn strong. When it came right down to it, he preferred die thick gold braid she usually wore; it made her look more human, more accessible, less prissy and refined.
Pain shimmied up his arm when Jake pulled his hand back. His calloused fingertips brushed that sensitive spot behind her ear. He saw her shiver, and knew she wasn't as unaffected by his touch as she wanted him to believe.
"I, um, suppose we should find Edward Bannister now," Amanda said, and the saddle creaked beneath her when she fidgeted. She chided herself for being silly; she felt nervous as a cat, but it couldn't be helped. Jake's touch did that to her. One glance, one touch—no matter how innocent—went through her like lightning. She couldn't think of a time when it hadn't. She didn't want to think of a time when it hadn't. But she was going to have to. Soon now, whether she liked it or not.
"You that anxious to get your money, princess?" Jake asked softly, so Roger wouldn't overhear.
What? What will you get, Jake?
My money. Every last cent of it. The sooner we get that brat back, the sooner I can be rid of you.
Amanda sucked in a sharp breath. "No, what I am is anxious to pay you."
His eyes narrowed, yet even through the shadows cast by the wide brim of his hat she saw his gaze sparkle dangerously.
"For services rendered, Miss Lennox?"
The way his gaze fed hungrily on her lips told Amanda that finding Roger was not the service Jake was referring to. Her cheeks paled, then flooded with color. Before she realized what she was doing, her hand lifted. Her open palm arched toward his cheek.
Jake's smokey gaze flashed with knowledge. He knew what Amanda was going to do before she knew it herself. He had plenty of time to deflect the blow if he wanted to. He didn't.
The slap was harsh and stinging—to them both.
Jake's head whipped back with the force of it. He turned back toward her almost immediately, and Amanda blanched to see the red imprint of her hand outlined against his deep copper skin. The muscle there ticked erratically. His jaw was tight and hard.
She made to snatch her stinging hand back, but Jake didn't give her time. His arm throbbed as, lightning quick, he grabbed her. His fingers banded around her slender wrist in a grip just shy of painful.
"I owed you that one, princess. But only that one," he growled, his gaze burned into her.
Amanda's breath caught when she remembered that first night. The fire. Jake's body molding into her back as he taught her how to whirl a stick in just the right way to start a spark. And then she thought of the match that he'd had all along, the way he'd tricked her. Remind me to slap you tomorrow. Oh yes, she remembered it, all of it. Dear God, how could she ever forget?
The fingers around her wrist tightened. "Don't ever slap me again, lady. Like you've said often, and I've always agreed, I'm like no... gentleman you've ever met. Next time, I will slap you back. Hard enough to make your prissy little head spin."
He released her so abruptly that Amanda had to grab the saddle pommel to keep from falling off the horse. She opened her mouth to apologize, plain and simple. For a split second she'd forgotten that nothing was plain and simple when it came to Jacob Blackhawk Chandler. Not only did he complicate seemingly everything, but he also gave her no chance to utter a sound.
"I'll check around, see where Bannister's at. Sooner we get this over with, the better," Jake said over his shoulder as he jerked the reins and started guiding the white toward Pony's only street. "Wait here."
A few minutes slipped tensely past before Roger glanced over at Amanda. "He will come back, won't he?"
Amanda shrugged. She was trying to fight the feeling of desolation—and failing miserably. "Does it matter?"
Roger shrugged, and turned his gaze back to the swinging door of the false-fronted saloon they'd both seen Jake disappear inside of. "I guess not. Well, Miss Lennox, it seems the next logical question would be, do we wait for him?"
As it had for the past two days, Roger's oddly mature tone surprised Amanda, Except for the timbre, there was no similarity between this voice and the whiny, petulant one that she was used to having taunt her. She answered him question for question. "Do you want to wait for him?"
"Not really, but... well, to be honest, there's something about that man that scares me. I don't trust him, yet I don't distrust him, either. Does that make sense, Miss Lennox?"
"Yes. I feel the same way."
Roger sat forward, eyeing her quizzically. "Do you think he'd be mad if he came back and found us gone?"