"You're right," he growled, his tone gritty and low and ominous. "I do have a problem. You!"
He leaned toward her. The tip of his index finger scratched over the line of her jaw. His voice took on a cold, cajoling note that sent shivers of alarm—or of something else, something Amanda didn't want to know about—slicing down her spine. Then again, maybe it was the touch alone that made her quake?
"Don't look so worried, princess," he said, and flashed her one of the iciest smiles she'd ever seen. It chilled her to the bone. His fingertip hesitated on the crest of her chin. "It's a problem I can handle."
Amanda tried to lean back, but Jake's reaction time was much too quick. He shifted, and his fingers coiled like unmerciful steel bands around her upper arms.
She gasped—half in surprise, half in fright. Twisting, she tried to yank herself free without losing her seat. He wouldn't let her go. There was no respite from his punishing grip... just as there was no respite from the raw, savage fury she'd unleashed in him.
Amanda had wondered what this man's anger would be like once it was unleashed. Now she knew... and she wished to God she didn't. Raw. Savage. Wild. That was what Jake Chandler was like when angered. Untamed. Dangerous. Frightening.
He jerked her around in the saddle until she was facing him. With a flick of his wrists, he hauled her up hard against his chest. The action was meant to be brutal, and it was. But not only to her. It was hell for Jake, too. He hadn't expected his method of retribution to backfire so severely, although he'd realized it would... a split second too late.
Liquid fire bubbled in his blood when he felt her breasts crushed to his chest. Their horses stepped together. Thighs met, grinding against each other; hard copper rubbed smooth white velvet. Even beneath a layer of tough, weathered denim, his skin burned from every goddamn inch of that contact!
His fingers tightened around her arms. His heart slammed double time against his ribs, and his breathing took a ragged, shallow turn. He wished the moisture beading his brow could be attributed to the rain that was coming down in a steady drizzle now. But he knew that wasn't the cause. And...
Jesus, his hands were shaking! This was not the violent reaction he'd intended. No, no, not even close. Because it was his reaction. Not hers.
Amanda was having a violent reaction all her own. Leaning weakly against Jake, she absorbed the erratic beat of his heart with her palms. His chest felt warm and firm, his shirt moist and soft. The fight had drained out of her the second their bodies collided, the second rigid male planes molded to soft feminine curves.
She thought about tipping her head back to look at him—she wanted, needed, to see his face—but she lacked the courage for it. What if contact between them didn't have the same dizzying affect on him? What if Jake was still furious with her? What if...?
She decided instantly that she'd be better off without answers to those questions. Truly, she didn't want to know if the tremors she felt in the fingers banding her arms were born from anger, or from something more base... something wild and primitive and deeply sensual.
Amanda shivered. The rain was coming down a bit harder. Her hair was damp; it was only a matter of time before both she and Jake became soaked. Her mind flashed her an image of wet black hair and bare copper skin... and her trembling increased twofold.
"Please, Jake, come to the cabin with me." Amanda swallowed hard when she felt Jake tense. If she could, she would have taken the words back. He didn't want to go. He had his reasons, even if she couldn't understand the logic behind them. It was wrong to push him. Yet, while she knew she was a fool to force the issue... God, the thought of Jake weathering the storm out in the open, unprotected and vulnerable, was incomprehensible.
Unprotected? Vulnerable? Amanda almost laughed. Almost. Those were not words one usually associated with Jacob Blackhawk Chandler. Had he known the path of her thoughts, she didn't doubt Jake would have laughed in her face.
Jake didn't feel like laughing. Far from it. What he felt like doing was abandoning his first plan—strangling her with his bare hands—and heading straight for his second—kissing her breathless. The plan had merit; it would keep her mouth busy, and shut her up for a while. It also had a bonus; the feel of her lips crushed beneath his, the unique whiskey-honey sweet taste of her on his tongue...
A kiss. One goddamn kiss. Surely he could take that much from this white woman! Didn't she owe it to him? Hadn't she kept him out in the rain for so long that he'd never be able to find a dry spot to build a shelter on? Hell, if he was destined to be cold and wet until the storm passed, didn't he deserve the memory of one more hot, forbidden kiss to keep him warm?
Yes, dammit! He could steal a kiss from her. Just one. Long and deep and thorough. He would take what he needed from this white woman to keep the cold, lonely hours ahead at bay.
Jake, unaware until that very second he'd been cushioning his chin atop the pillow of her golden head, pulled back. The hands Amanda had placed on his shoulders tightened. Her fingers tunneled through his damp shirt, biting into the sensitized skin beneath. She seemed puzzled, as though she was disappointed by the scant distance he'd put between them.
"Look at me, princess."
The tone of his voice had changed. Amanda didn't know how, didn't know why, but the change did register with her. Slowly, her chin tipped up. More slowly, her gaze lifted. She focused on the collar of his shirt. The top button was free; the placket gaped open, revealing a small wedge of damp copper skin. It was a tantalizing sight, in that there was only enough exposed to tease, to make her yearn to slide free the remaining buttons, to see more. To feel and taste and...
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.