Montana Wildfire (12 page)

Amanda scowled. Was she, Amanda Louise Van Simmons Lennox, feeling lonely? No, it couldn't be! Or could it? She didn't know, and her confusion served only to confuse her still more.

Sinking into a pensive silence, Amanda tried to ignore how wonderful Jake's arms felt as he cradled her to his chest. She tried to ignore the way his clean, earthy scent lent a sensuous tang to the brisk night air. Tried, and failed. The man wasn't easily ignored. Even harder to ignore was the way mere thoughts of him created that odd, empty ache inside her... and the way mere thoughts of him also served to semi-smooth that ache away.

The walk down to the river hadn't seemed long. The trip back took forever. That might have been because, somewhere between when Jake had picked her up, and when they neared the clearing, Amanda's once rigid body had begun to melt into him. It wasn't a conscious thing. She didn't relax all at once, but rather, muscle by weary muscle gradually uncoiled and loosened.

By the time she heard the whicker of their tethered horses, she'd relaxed considerably. Her hands were no longer clenched in her lap, but had at some point inched up the smooth, warm expanse of Jake's chest. Her arms were now wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangled in fistfuls of his silky black hair. Keeping space between them had proved too taxing an effort; she'd quickly found she had no energy for it. Her cheek was cushioned against his shoulder. The sculpted firmness of him felt good and natural, as if that part of him had been carved just for her. The fit was warm and perfect.

Jake stepped into the moonswept clearing where they'd set up camp. No, make that where he'd
presumed
a camp should be. From the look of things, Amanda Lennox hadn't lifted one perfectly manicured finger the entire time he'd been gone. The wood was still scattered dead center of the small, oval expanse of grass—exactly where he'd left it. No fire had been lit.

The second he made the observation, Jake wondered why he'd bothered. The woman snuggled so nicely in his arms was, after all, a pampered white princess. She wouldn't have the skill to get a fire started, even if she possessed the knowledge to do it. How she'd managed to stay alive out here this long was beyond him. Luck, most likely, and a lot of it.

He bent and deposited her roughly atop the hard-packed earth, his patience frayed. "Thought I told you to light a fire?"

"I was out of matches," Amanda sniffed. Ignoring him as best she could, she lifted her skirt to inspect her ankle. The discolored swelling was no worse, nor was it better. The whole area still hurt mightily. She flicked the skirt back into place, and glared up at him. "Don't look at me like that. I
did
try, but it wouldn't catch. I think the wood you collected is damp."

"Like hell." Jake swaggered over to the pile and lifted a knobby stick. Holding it at waist level, he snapped it neatly in two. The sound of wood splintering made Amanda's spine go rigid. She watched as a few brittle chunks of bark rained to the ground, peppering the toes of Jake's bare feet.

"All right, so maybe
that one
was dry," she conceded grudgingly, and glanced away. "But the
rest
were—"

Another stick snapped. Another. The night echoed with the sound of dry wood cracking.

Amanda's eyes narrowed. Slowly, her gaze swept back to Jake. He looked quite pleased with himself, she noticed—and in the same instant thought she would gladly slap that condescending glare right off of his handsome face, were he within easy reach. As luck would have it, he was not.

"Do you want me to try again?" Her tone was as sweet as her smile. Only the way she pushed each word through clenched teeth suggested her irritation with this man.

Jake crossed his arms over his chest. One corner of his mouth quirked up, and a dark brow cocked high. His steely gaze sparkled with a challenging light that was enhanced by the play of moonlight and shadow.

Amanda's heartbeat kicked into double time. The small act of a smile—a genuine one this time—transformed his features from merely attractive to breathtakingly good-looking. Maybe it had something to do with the way his white teeth flashed against the rich copper of his face? Whatever the reason, she was learning to appreciate his rare, fleeting smiles.

Jake's right hand came away from the corded forearm it was pillowed atop. With an open palm, he indicated the wood. "Yeah, I think I would like that. I've always wondered how a society princess lights a fire."

Her lips thinned. "Is that a fact? Funny,
I've
always wondered how an Indian does it."

An angry glint turned the color of his eyes from silver to midnight grey. The muscle in his cheek throbbed. "All right, Miss Lennox, let me put this in terms you'll understand. I'll use small words... it'll be easier for you to follow. I'm cold, I'm hungry, I'm tired." He counted each complaint off on his fingers, his gaze never leaving her. His eyes were bright with the innuendo that threaded his voice with husky promise. "If you don't get off that cute little butt of yours and get a fire started soon, I'm going to be forced to find some other way to keep myself warm tonight. If that happens, I give you my word... come morning there'll be one less white lady wondering how
this
Indian does
anything
."

He was dead serious. Amanda decided it would be in her best interest to give lighting the fire another try. Not wanting to put unnecessary weight on her ankle, she used her hands and good leg to push herself over the few feet of grass separating her from the wood. She kept her shoulders squared and her spine straight and proud, although she had to admit that hauling herself clumsily over the ground the way she was doing made it difficult to appear ladylike.

Her fingers, she was pleased to note, didn't tremble too much when she selected the two sticks she'd used earlier. One piece already had the proper-sized hole gouged in the center; she laid that one flat on the ground. Inserting the tip of the thinner, longer stick into the hole, Amanda flattened her palms on either side of it. Her skin was chafed from her previous attempt to get the fire started. She
had
tried, dammit! She disregarded the sting of bark against her tender flesh—at least she
tried
to disregard it, but it made her movements awkward.

She paused long enough to suck in a steadying breath, then began rubbing the stick back and forth. Her motions were self-conscious and stiff. The stick flipped from her fingers more times than not, but she doggedly snatched it back and tried again. She would get this fire started or she would die trying!

Amanda was vaguely aware of when Jake swaggered to the opposite side of the pile. He hunkered down in the ankle-high grass, and although she could feel his gaze smolder over her, she was too busy—mentally commanding the sticks to combust in a fiery display that would knock a certain conceited half-breed on his ear—to pay him much attention.

Until he laughed.

His rich, deep, oddly pleasant laughter cut through the night and sliced through Amanda like a knife. The sound won her undivided—not to mention furious-attention. Her hands paused in mid-rub. Her gaze snapped up. The crease furrowing her brow was a good indication of her fury. "You think this is
funny?
" she demanded.

Jake nodded. It took effort to trap his laughter in his throat. The amusement in his eyes didn't fade a bit. "Yeah, princess, I think it's hilarious. Don't you?"

Her gaze flared with indignation. "I most certainly do not. For your information, Mr. Chandler, I happen to be trying my best to get this fire started."

"Is that a fact? Well, for
your
information, Miss Lennox, you'll never do it the way you're going about it." His attention plunged to the stick she sandwiched between her stinging palms. "Want some help?"

"If it wouldn't put too much of a strain on you."

"Okay, listen up." His gaze volleyed between her eyes and the stick. "Think of it as..."

One golden brow slanted curiously high. Now what, Amanda wondered, had doused his laughter so quickly? And why did his expression suddenly look tight and strained? The muscle in his jaw had stopped ticking. Why? What sordid thought had crossed his mind? Whatever it was, it must have been a good one to have that sobering an effect on a man that
nothing
seemed to bother.

"What, Mr. Chandler? Think of it as... what?"

His gaze shifted, grazing the swell of her breasts before lifting. The corners of his mouth kicked up in a wicked grin as their gazes meshed. "Think of it as like... making love," he said slowly, suggestively. He heard her gasp, but ignored it. "You've got to rub the stick harder. Faster. Get enough friction going to make a spark. Then you've got to... Well, hell, princess, let me show you."

Amanda squirmed. Her heart fluttered when she saw Jake push to his feet. He sauntered around the pile of wood, and only once he'd breached the barrier did she realize it had made a wall between them. She felt his heat seep into her back and hips before she actually felt him—in all the same places. Was it possible to breathe when one found oneself in a situation like this? Apparently not. At least
she
couldn't!

He knelt behind her, vising her hips between his legs. His pelvis ground against her bottom when he shifted, settling himself in.

Amanda stifled a groan. The contact between her sensitive bottom and his hard-muscled thighs was jarring. A sensation bolted through her; it was like being struck by lightning. Shock that Jake would take such liberties—both verbal and physical—made her shake. At least that was the reason she gave herself for the quivers shooting through her.

She didn't think he noticed her reaction, and she was grateful for that. And then she wondered if maybe his ignorance wasn't due to the way his attention was focused on positioning himself behind her? His hips wiggled and pressed; it seemed to take forever for him to find a comfortable spot!

Starting at the hips, he rolled his weight forward until his bare chest was plastered against her back. A row of buttons trailed down her dress. The tiny nubs bit into her skin from the pressure of his weight grinding into her. The pain was nominal—more an aggravation, really—easily forgotten, among the sensations swirling in her tummy, sensations that seeped rapidly downward.

Jake's head appeared over her shoulder. He was close enough for Amanda to make out every detail of his sculpted profile. Close enough for her to smell the scent of his skin. It was a heady aroma; one that inundated her with each small, rapid breath she labored to draw into her burning lungs.

He angled his head, and their cheeks brushed. His skin felt smooth and warm as it whisked her own. "Pay attention, Miss Lennox. I'll only show you this once. Now, let's see," he muttered, his voice a hot rush of air in her ear. "First, well need some of this." His chest rubbed her back when he moved. As she watched, he fluffed a handful of dry grass around the base of the stick.

"That's the bed," he told her, inclining his chin toward the scattered grass. "The bed is, initially, what you want to start the fire on." He paused. "Are you with me so far?"

"Um-hmmm," she squeaked, then gulped and cleared her throat.

"Good. Now this," he nodded to the stick, "is the... Jesus, lady, you're going to snap it in two if you keep holding it so tight! Ease up a bit. No need to strangle the damn thing. Uncurl your fingers and... that's better. Now balance the stick between your palms. Good. Now this time I want you to make your movements flow. What you need to do is...
stimulate
the bottom stick until it smolders. That'll take a nice, easy, back and forth stroke. Steady, but not jerky. You want to get that friction I was telling you about started. Back and forth, back and forth. I can't tell you how important rhythm is. Once you've established the pace, you can't let up or you'll have to start from scratch. Understand?"

Think of it as like... making love.

Amanda stifled a moan and nodded.

"Good. Give it a try."

"Like this?" she asked, and realized she'd overcompensated by making her tone too husky and low. To distract Jake from noticing, she began rubbing the stick. Her movements were still awkward and inept, but this time her clumsiness stemmed from a different source. It stemmed from the man behind her, the feel of his hard body planing her back, the unreasonably strong curl of desire his words caused to simmer in the pit of her stomach.

Her fingers quavered. The stick flipped out of her grasp, and landed on the ground beside Jake's knee.

He picked it up and handed it back to her. His sigh of disappointment rustled the golden wisps clinging to her cheeks. Her skin burned from the fan of his breath. "To tell you the truth, princess, that doesn't do much for me. Try it like this."

Her gaze dropped. Amanda knew she should be protesting this sordid lesson, but she didn't have a voice to protest with. It made her pride feel less battered to think she was only allowing this because learning how to build a fire without the use of matches could come in handy in the future. And it would. But that wasn't why she couldn't move or talk, and she knew it.

Amanda gave Jake her full attention—in more ways than one. There was no forgetting or ignoring the intimate way he'd molded himself to her hips and back. His thighs straddled hers from behind, pressing, arching. She couldn't deny her tumultuous reaction to the hard, firm feel of him. The only thing she could do was
pretend
she hadn't noticed it.

She pulled Jake's hands into focus. He paused imperceptibly before blanketing the back of her knuckles with his palms. His skin felt hot and rough, his fingers thick and strong. The back of her wrist was acutely aware of his pulse hammering against it. The tempo was wild and erratic; it matched her own racing heart.

"Ready?" he whispered huskily. His mouth was close enough for her to feel the movement of his lips against her earlobe.

Amanda nodded weakly. "I-I think so."

"Just do exactly what I tell you, and I'll show you how we Indians set a bed on fire."