It had taken him a full hour, and God knows how much liquor, for Jake to realize he wasn't going to bed the redhead—although he suspected the woman herself had figured it out quite a while before him. It had taken him less than two seconds to realize why he wouldn't seek his release with her.
Amanda Lennox.
Right or wrong, she was the only woman he wanted, and he wanted her with an urge so strong it almost didn't seem real. It was Amanda's sweet white skin he craved to feel beneath his open palms. Amanda's curves he yearned to have complimenting his own male hardness. Amanda's airy breath he would kill to feel scorching his bare flesh, seeping into his bloodstream.
The redhead wouldn't do. Jake didn't want her. He didn't want what she'd been offering—or, more precisely, selling him. He didn't want a nameless woman, bought and paid for in a nameless saloon. A woman whose body he would forget long before sunrise. A
woman whose face he would forget even sooner. He'd had enough encounters like that to last him two dozen lifetimes.
What he wanted, needed, hungered for now was Amanda. And only Amanda. His desire for her was like nothing he'd ever known. It was a fire in his blood that had sparked the first time he'd seen her; a fire that had kindled to an unendurable flame the first time he'd made love to her.
There was no end in sight. There was no hope of finally putting an end to the desire burning inside of him. At least, not when the very woman who inspired it was tucked inside a room located only a few dozen feet from where he now stood. She was so damn close, so damn accessible!
What would happen if he went to her now? She wouldn't turn him away. Jake knew it, just as he knew that to go to her would have to be the stupidest thing he'd ever done in his life! But he was tempted. Ah, God, was he tempted!
While he didn't slur when he was drunk, liquor always greased his tongue. If he saw Amanda tonight, in this condition, he might inadvertently tell her a variety of things she was better off not knowing—and he was better off not saying. Like why he'd been so angry with her. Like what he had—no, what he hadn't—found in her saddlebag three nights ago. He was just drunk enough, just desperate enough, that he might—might—listen to any convoluted excuse she gave him, because... Jesus, he was so damn hungry to hear one!
At this point, Jake didn't even care if she told him the truth anymore. And that scared the hell out of a man who put more stock in honesty than he did in breathing.
A vague shuffling sound tunneled down the hall to his right, coming from the direction of Amanda's room. While Jake's ears registered the noise, he didn't look in that direction. Why bother? This was a hotel, after all. People came and went regularly; the hour of day or night didn't matter much.
While the noise itself didn't snatch his attention, the voices did. Both were gravelly, thick, and as coarse as their owners—two stooped shadows he had to squint to identify as men.
Jake's hand hovered over the hilt of the knife sheathed on his belt. Even though he didn't touch it, the cold of the steel chilled his palms. Scowling, he concentrated on the voices of the two men. His blood ran cold as their words burned the dull edges of liquor from his mind.
"She's in there, I tell ya," the short, fat one huffed as he released the doorknob.
"And I'm tellin' you this is the wrong room," the other man, equally as short but thin as a rail, argued.
"It ain't. I saw her go in there with my own two. Ain't no woman in these parts ya can confuse with that one, pal."
"Not in Junction," his thin friend agreed, "but that ain't the point, Cal. The point is, if we barge in there and find out it ain't the right room..."
"It is," Fat Cal snarled. "I know it is. Trust me, Billy, the breed's woman is in there. I'd swear my soul she is."
Thin Billy stiffened. "Better start swearin' then. Cause if you're wrong... well, ain't no man lives in Junction's gonna want to see our grubby faces looming over his bed, Cal. And if there's a miner in there with his gal... well, he'll think we come to steal his dust and kill us fer sure."
"Ain't no miner. And ain't no one gonna get killed, just so long as we're quiet."
"Quiet?" Thin Billy huffed. "Yeah, we can be quiet all right. She won't be. Least, she won't be once she figures out what we've got in mind. And I'd swear to that."
"Far as I'm concerned, she can make all the noise she wants... after we's done with her. 'Sides, once she's gagged and tied up, she'll be quiet enough."
"What if she screams before you gag her Cal? What then?"
"Think of what you're sayin', Billy! Any yellin' she does is just for show. Hot-damn, the gal's been puttin' it to an Injun. An Injun! Prob'ly be a nice change for her to spread those perty white legs for the two of us." Fat Cal chuckled nastily, and jabbed an elbow into his companion's ribs. "After she's had us, she ain't gonna welcome no piece of red trash back in her bed. I'd stake my life on it."
"That's exactly what you'll be doing if you open that door, Cal."
The soft, deadly reply didn't come from either of the two men. It seemed to take a second for Fat Cal to realize that.
When realization came, it came all at once—in the form of a steely band wrapped around his paunchy middle, crushing the air from his lungs. A knife materialized out of nowhere; before Fat Cal could blink, the long, thick, deadly blade was resting against his jugular. A sinewy body molded itself into his fatty back. The chest he was suddenly brought up against—and brought up hard—was lean and solid and strong. So was the arm that continued to squeeze the air out of him.
Thin Billy's eyes widened, his shocked attention straying over his friend's beefy shoulders. His gaze met cold steel grey, and held. His gaunt jaw loosened and his mouth gaped open. At the same time, his cheeks drained a chalky shade of white.
If Jake had wondered if the two men would fight for each other, Thin Billy's reaction took care of that. They wouldn't. Not if they were smart. Then again, considering what they'd been about to do...
Jake's attention shifted to the door. It was a miracle the wood didn't combust, his gaze was that hot, that furious. He thought of Amanda, of what these two men would have done to her had he not come along when he had. His gut kicked, hard. His heart was pounding fast and furious, each beat pumping more and more fury into his system, wiping away the fog of liquor, wiping away everything except the image of his woman being violated by these two filthy pieces of white scum.