His voice turned gruff. "Did I say I wanted to talk?"
"Yes, you—" Amanda's mouth snapped closed. No, now that he mentioned it, he'd said he wanted to "settle" something between them. He'd never said he wanted to do it verbally. She'd simply assumed...
Amanda detoured her thoughts onto a safer path. She concentrated on the ankle that was throbbing mightily, on the pounding in her temples that refused to dull. She was exhausted, every muscle in her body ached. The nearly empty pan she clutched tightly in her fist reminded her of her previous goal: a hot sponge bath and a good night's sleep. She did not want to sit here exchanging riddles with this man all night. Perhaps a determined glare would make him explain himself more clearly?
It didn't. Instead, Jake cushioned his elbows atop the shelf of his rock-solid thighs and leaned slightly toward her.
Amanda did not notice the way his shoulder muscles flexed with the movement. Nor did she see the stretch of smooth copper skin hugging his chest, arms, and taut, taut belly. It took effort, but she ignored the sinewy thighs on which his upper body weight was balanced. Of course she did. A properly bred young lady like herself would never notice such things.
She tore her gaze from him, but her attention wasn't allowed to waver long. The crook of his index finger hooked beneath her chin, and dragged it right back.
Jake turned his head and spit out the stalk of grass. His gaze never left her huge green eyes. "You've got two choices, princess. Either we get this over with, end the suspense here and now, or I'll be gone come morning. Without you."
"Are you threatening me? Might I remind you, sir, that I'm paying you very good money for your—er—services."
"Go ahead. Then I'll remind you that I don't have any of that 'good money' warming my pocket yet, do I?" He leaned forward. Just another inch. Just enough to put his chest into searing contact with her shoulder. "Know what I think?" She shook her head. "I think there's a reason for that. In fact, I'm starting to think that maybe you don't have any money to pay me with."
"I do!"
His grip on her chin turned inward. His hot palm scorched her neck. His fingers didn't tighten around the base of her throat, but Amanda had the uneasy feeling that was only because he was leashing the impulse.
"Prove it. Show me the money."
"I can't," she snapped, her mind churning. "Don't look at me like that. I wasn't about to carry a bulky saddlebag down to the river with me. I had enough trouble getting here myself as it was. I assure you, Mr. Chandler, the money is safe."
Oh, God, what was she saying? There was money in her saddlebag, but not much. Only enough to get to Pony. There would be more once Roger was found and returned to his father, of course. A lot more. Mentally she'd already set aside a large chunk of her salary to pay Jake. Unfortunately, if she admitted that to him, she would also have to explain why she didn't have the money she claimed to have in her possession. He would want to know why she was getting money from Edward Bannister, and somewhere in there, she would have to tell him who Roger was.
Amanda was still convinced that was a bad idea. Her earlier assessment of this man stood firm. Jake was arrogant, dangerous, and highly untrustworthy. Until he proved otherwise, lying seemed a lesser risk than telling him the truth.
While that was all well and good, it didn't tell her how to prevent Jake from deserting her. She'd been lost before they'd joined forces. Without him, she'd be lost again come dawn. She was clever, but her skills were domestic, not the sort needed to survive in the wilderness alone. Since she was unable to find Roger without help, and since Jake was the only help available, it stood to reason she couldn't, under any circumstances, let him desert her.
Jake dropped his hand from her neck. He uncoiled his lanky frame and straightened. The restraining hand Amanda wrapped around his wrist stopped him when he would have walked away.
The tendons beneath her fingertips pulled taut. She might have been able to deal with that, had it been all she felt. It wasn't. A jolt of awareness shot up her arm. Her blood seared with the heat of it. "Where are you going?" she asked, her voice unaccountably husky. Had she just felt him shiver?
"To ransack your saddlebag. Where else?"
"But we aren't done here."
Jake glanced down, his expression guarded. "We're not?"
"No. You said there was something you want settled between us. Or were you referring to the money? If so..." She paused. "Excuse my bluntness, Mr. Chandler, but exactly how did you plan to settle the question of the money's existence without talking about it?"
Jake's gaze narrowed, dipped, dragged over her lips. His mouth went dry, his throat tight. "I planned to ask you about that after..."
"What?" she pressed. "After what?" Amanda wasn't sure she wanted an answer. She'd asked the question only to stall for time, hoping he would forget about the money entirely. The way his gaze darkened, stroking lustily over her mouth, suggested her plan had worked. Perhaps a bit too well.
Jake knew that the smart thing to do right now would be to turn his back and walk away. And to keep walking. To hell with the money. Even if she did have it, he didn't need it that badly. What he did need—so badly he ached!—was something he could never get from a prissy white lady like Amanda Lennox.
He didn't leave.
Instead, Jake stood rooted to the spot, his gaze caressing her face. He recognized that as a mistake the instant he saw the tip of her tongue dart out to moisten suddenly parched lips. Again, he wondered how she would taste. Smooth and sweet, like whiskey and honey. It was an odd combination to be sure, but an appropriate one. A damn tempting one. His tongue made a frustrated sweep over the back of his teeth. Hell, he could taste her already. His gut kicked. The air rushed from his lungs, and all thoughts of walking anywhere melted clean away.
Dammit! Before he committed himself to stay with her for longer than tonight, they really did have something to settle between them. Something that did not involve talking. Something that had been eating at him—and, he suspected, eating at her—all day. Something hot. Something inevitable. Something that damn well couldn't wait.
He glanced down, and saw that her fingers were still wrapped around his wrist. His pulse drummed a savage beat against her thumb. Her hand looked pale, the fingers long and slender as they rested against the native darkness of his arm. That sight—flawless white against dark copper—should have been enough to break the spell. And it might have been, had he not felt a tremor skate through her fingers... and a reciprocal vibration shimmy like a bolt of fire up his arm.
It was all the invitation Jake needed; all the invitation he required. He grabbed her wrist, and tugged her to her feet. His arm snaked around her waist, catching her close when she stumbled against him. Her cheeks went ghost-white. Jake heard her gasp, saw her wince. Only then did he remember her injured ankle.