Passion had eventually thawed. Reality had returned.
Never, never again was what Jake's gut was telling him now, what the protective shell encasing his heart demanded. One quick, almost awkward encounter with Amanda had made all the women who'd come before her pale into insignificance. Jesus, even now when he closed his eyes and tried to picture a face or body beneath him, the only one he could see was Amanda's. He couldn't remember another's, didn't want to. Only hers.
That was not a good sign. No, not good at all. And it sure as hell wasn't safe. In fact, his fascination with all things white and prissy could wind up being lethal for them both.
Maybe Amanda couldn't see the trouble their being together would bring, but Jake knew. Hell, he'd already lived through the experience once. His jaded eyes saw what hers could not. He saw the pain ahead of them with graphic clarity, and he wanted no damn part of it.
"We're going to the cabin, aren't we?" Amanda asked as she snuggled against him. Something, she wasn't sure what, had changed since he'd helped her onto the horse. Then, they'd moved together, in tune to each other, in tune to the white as it jostled them. Now, the tension in his body, the tension in hers, made them move awkwardly apart.
"You are," he corrected. Though his drawl was lazy and thick, there was an edge to his words. "Like I told you, I'll meet you back here in a couple of days, once the storm's over."
Her shoulders sagged. Her chin lowered, and her head hung limply on her neck. A defeated little sigh whispered past her lips. "I thought you'd changed your mind. I really thought—"
"Wrong," he grumbled, and shifted so his body was no longer gloving her slender back and temptingly soft bottom. "As usual, you thought wrong." Sighing, Jake plowed the fingers of his free hand through his cool, damp hair and shook his head. He was glad Amanda wasn't looking at him, glad she couldn't see how much his next words cost him. The fingers cushioned atop her thigh tightened, squeezing the tender white flesh beneath the bunched folds of calico. He hesitated, then his touch melted away. "Time you faced facts, princess. What happened between us was inevitable. And I'd be lying if I said it wasn't good." He swallowed hard. "It was. Real good. But it doesn't change a damn thing."
"It doesn't change the color of my skin, in other words," she whispered shakily under her breath, more to herself than to him. Amanda thought she should have known better, should have known Jake would hear. She should have learned by now that little snuck past the man.
"I've slept with white women before, princess," he said flatly. "The color of your skin doesn't bother me much. At least it doesn't bother me in the ways you think."
If he'd slapped her, his words couldn't have had a greater impact. Amanda's chin snapped up, and he grunted when the top of her head bumped his jaw. Her spine went rigid. Her heart drummed a painful, erratic beat against her ribs. "You told me you'd only been with one white woman. You said—"
"White lady," he growled. "I said I'd only been with one white lady. And," he sucked in a long, thoughtful breath, "yeah, I'd have to stand by that. I've still only been with one,"
Her voice humiliated her by cracking. "You don't count me?"
"Un-uh." Jake paused, then very coldly, very precisely, drawled, "Don't sound so surprised, Amanda. I mean, you're close, I'll give you that. On the outside you're all prissy politeness and manners, but we both know that's only a front. Because on the inside, you're hotter than a burning coal. On the inside, Amanda Lennox, you ain't no lady."
Amanda had spent too many years trying to emulate her mother's memory to appreciate hearing those words. All right, maybe ladies didn't sleep with half-wild savages and enjoy it, not the way she had. In that respect, maybe she wasn't as refined as she hoped. But she was still a lady, Goddammit! And why couldn't Jake see that?
"Want me to tell you why?" Jake asked.
Despite her resolve not to, Amanda nodded.
He leaned forward, molding his chest to her back. He was close enough for his breath to blast hotly in her ear as he drawled, "Ladies don't scream when they come, princess. Not the way you did."
"I didn't!" she gasped, and felt her cheeks heat even as her mind raced. She had not screamed... had she? Oh Lord, she couldn't remember. All Amanda remembered about that particular moment was the wonder, the breathtaking feelings. Her body had exploded in fiery white sparks. Delicious spasms of sensation had consumed all her attention. She was still tingling with the aftereffects! If she'd cried out, she hadn't heard it, didn't remember it. But if she had cried out the way Jake said she had... then he was right. She was no lady.
"I—I didn't," she repeated softly, and hesitated self-consciously. "Did I?"
"Um-hmmm. You don't remember?"
She shook her head.
Jake felt her tremble, and he leaned back quickly. The distance helped, but not much. That might have been because there wasn't a whole lot of distance between them. Certainly not as much as he would have liked. Her hips were wedged between his thighs. He remembered how the body pressing against him felt in his hands, how it felt to be sandwiched between those long, enticing white legs.
"I remember," he said gruffly. What he didn't tell her was that, if he lived to be a thousand, he'd never be able to forget. "You screamed, lady. You cried out my name, and your voice was all low and throaty and raw. Remember yet? It was just before your fingernails tore bloody ribbons down my back."
Her sob ripped through Jake. He tried not to let the soft, plaintive sound affect him. If he was going to stop this madness, he couldn't do it by half-measures. He would fulfill his obligation—he'd find her cousin, he owed her that much—but when it was over, when she had the kid back, he wanted the break between him and this white woman to be immediate and clean and as painless as possible. For them both. The only way to accomplish that was to keep their relationship as simple as possible. And to not, under any circumstances, lay with her again!
They crested the hill in silence, their passage marked by the sound of hoofbeats crunching over newly fallen snow. Jake reined in the white. Though he didn't glance down the snow-dusted slope, he knew the cabin was there. Things around these parts, in particular people's attitudes, rarely changed.
He looked at Amanda. Her head was down, the thick gold hairs that had escaped her braid concealed most of her expression from view. All he could see was the moist curve of the lower lip she was nibbling between her teeth. The lip trembled.
"Ready?" he asked, tearing his gaze away. When he felt her nod, he leaned to the side, helped her to the ground, and untied the mare. He held the reins out to her. She wasn't looking at him and didn't see the offer. "Amanda?"
Her gaze lifted, and her cheeks colored. Her breath quickened, as though she'd been surprised to hear his voice.
"Take the reins, princess. Hurry up. The snow's starting to come down harder."