Montana Wildfire by Rebecca Sinclair Page A

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