An involuntary shudder rippled through her. It was answered by a tightening in the arms clamped around her thighs.
Their gazes met.
"Y-you can put me down now," she stammered. It was embarrassing to be the first to look away, but it couldn't be helped. The way Jake was looking at her—his silvery gaze deep and probing, as though he was seeing her for the very first time, and liked what he saw very much—made Amanda's stomach feel all warm and... well, fluttery. The sensation was deep, disturbing only in that it wasn't disturbing enough. In fact, it was dreadfully pleasant. "Really. I'm quite all right."
"What about your ankle?"
It was on the tip of her tongue to point out that he hadn't given a fig five minutes ago, when he'd wandered off and left her to her own devices, how her ankle was faring. A stroke of wisdom made her bite the words back. Amanda didn't doubt such a comment would rile his anger and instigate another argument. Truly, she was too tired, too jittery, and far too confused to fight with him right now.
Her gaze swept over Jake. His expression was hard and impassive. The muscle in his cheek had begun to twitch. Amanda wondered why, then decided she'd be better off not knowing. She said simply, "I think I can walk."
"You're sure?" he asked, and shifted to redistribute her weight. He almost smiled when he heard her soft, airy groan. "Your knees aren't feeling watery, are they, princess? They won't buckle the second your feet hit the ground?"
"Probab—definitely not," she insisted, and wondered how he could read her so easily. Weak and watery was exactly the way her knees felt. The way her entire body felt. That, and very warm, very aware of the hard male contours pressing against her.
Amanda pushed that observation aside, and tried to pull her abruptly scattered thoughts into logical order. It wasn't possible. The only thing her mind was capable of thinking about right now was the subtle change in the way Jake Chandler was holding her. Now only one of his arms was coiled around her thighs, while his free hand had blazed a path upward. The palm of that hand was cupping the small of her back. No, she amended swiftly, not the small of her back... his hand had settled on the upper swell of her bottom! Even through her skirt and the layers of linen beneath, she could feel the hot, branding imprint of his hand searing her flesh. It was sensation comparable to none. The hot flood of awareness that surged through her sent Amanda's proper Bostonian senses into a tailspin.
"Unhand me, Mr. Chandler," she demanded, her voice husky and sharp with the panic bubbling up inside of her. "I told you I could walk, now let me down."
"Not yet."
"Why not?!"
His pause was long and fraught with a tension that gnawed at Amanda from the inside out. Her fingers tightened, clutching his shirt until her knuckles hurt from the pressure of her grip.
He didn't speak for so long that she'd convinced herself he wasn't going to. His voice, when it came, was so close his hot breath rustled the curls lying softly against her cheek. She started.
"I don't know about you, princess, but right now I'm just enjoying the view." His tone was as lazy and insolent as the silver gaze scanning her anger-reddened face. One corner of his mouth kicked up in a half-grin. His gaze dipped, searing first her lips, then the long, elegant taper of her creamy white throat. His attention settled on the swell of her breasts.
The look in his eyes was sheer fire. Amanda was surprised the cloth separating her skin from his hungry gaze didn't burn away. Lord knows, the flesh beneath her bodice felt as though it was smoldering!
Her breath hitched. Her eyes widened. Jake's finely carved face hovered a mere inch from the ultrasensitive tips of her breasts. She closed her eyes, trying to will back just a sliver of sanity. It was a mistake, she realized too late. Shutting her eyes honed her other senses to a finer pitch. She could actually feel each hot wash of his breath sluicing over her—seeping through her bodice, seeping through her skin!
The skin in question tingled and burned. So did her cheeks when, to her mortification, she felt her nipples pearl against the confining chemise. Was it her imagination, or did her breasts feel fuller and heavier, her nipples stiff and sensitive? No, that wasn't her imagination. Her imagination wasn't that good! She felt the rosy crests straining against the linen and cotton as though seeking on their own the hot, moist promise of his mouth.
Her eyes snapped open, and her gaze fixed on the sensuous line of Jake Chandler's lips. The tip of his tongue darted out to wet just the lower one. It was a provocative gesture in itself, made more provocative by the way his attention never strayed from her breasts. His gaze was intent. His eyes burned out of his copper face, out of the shadows of the night. His expression said that similar thoughts had lodged in his own mind.
Amanda felt as if a herd of butterflies had gathered in her belly, clamoring to break free. And that was exactly what she should be doing, she decided instantly. Yes, freedom was what she needed. Perhaps without her body absorbing this man's body heat, without his scent enticing her nostrils, without his steely muscles pressing against her, she'd be able to put a logical thought together. Maybe then sanity would return.
>
On impulse, she piled her fists atop his shoulders and shoved, hard, arching her back until her spine ached. Either she'd taken him by surprise, or he'd also decided they could use some distance. Whatever the reason, his arms shifted.
Supporting her weight with his elbows and forearms, his fingers coiled around her upper arms. Holding her gaze ensnared, he slowly, slowly slid her down the hard length of his body.
Amanda felt her thighs drag against his hips. Her pelvis was acutely aware of every hard band of muscle in his thighs. The tips of her breasts hardened still more when a rock-solid chest rubbed intimately against her.
She turned her head, trying to hide her confusion, but not before she felt the copper velvet of his cheek graze her lips. The feel was like a bolt of lightning coursing through her. Raw sensation shot through her blood, and her toes curled inside her shoes.
The second her feet touched the ground, Amanda winced and rationed her weight onto her left foot. Jake hadn't released her arms, and she was unnaturally grateful for that. His grip was the only thing that kept her upright.
"You okay?"
"Ummm-hmmm, fine," she lied. Somehow, she managed to force a note of confidence into her voice. Odd, she didn't feel very confident right now. In fact, she felt... well, damn peculiar, that's how she felt! Her gaze fixed on the feather interwoven at the tip of his braid. It lay against his chest, lifting and falling with his every ragged breath.
"Then you won't mind if I let you go?" he asked. Was it her imagination, or was his drawl not so casual anymore?
"Not at all, Mr. Chandler. In fact, I insist upon it."