"Fine?" she snapped. "With you, maybe. Not with me. Threaten me all you want, Mr. Chandler, but I won't lie and tell you I didn't mean what I said. I meant it." Her tone lowered until it was hard, icy, unfamiliar even to her own ears. "You, sir, are unquestionably a bastard."
That did it! Jake had taken about as much of this woman's lip as he was going to.
Lightning fast, he shifted. His fingers bit into her arms as he hauled her up hard against his chest. He angled his head until their noses touched. "I think it's about time you learned some manners, princess. For a white lady—an Eastern white lady—yours are atrocious."
One brow slanted high in accusation. Her eyes narrowed, the green depths firing as they flung the insult right back in his arrogant face. "Is that so? Well I see some white in you too, buster, but I've yet to see anything in your manners to write home about."
Uh-oh, she'd hit another sore spot. She could tell by the way the muscle in his cheek jerked and by the deadly glint in his eyes. If she hadn't been so mad, Amanda would have been concerned about that.
Inky lashes hooded a gaze that narrowed to furious silver slits. His eyebrows were dark slashes in the rich copper of his forehead. They rode naturally low over his eyes to begin with. As she watched, they pinched into a frown that only emphasized the weathered creases between them—the ones that suggested a man who scowled hard and often.
"You're getting on my nerves, Amanda Lennox," he growled, his lips barely moving over the words. His tone was menacing; it trickled down Amanda's spine like drops of melting snow. "Are you sure you want to do that?"
Now that he mentioned it, no. She wasn't at all sure that was what she wanted to do. She was sure that angering him more than he already was might not be in her best interests. His seething gaze said it was already far too late.
Unfortunately, it was also too late to back down, and Amanda knew it. She gave a toss of her head, her eyes sparkling with dark green challenge. "Are you going to deny you're part white, Mr. Chandler?"
"Are you going to apologize, Miss Lennox?"
"Are you going to let me go?"
His heartbeat slammed beneath the heel of her palms, the rhythm fast and furious, beating out a tempo to match the wild glint in his eyes. Amanda'
s own heartbeat sounded just as frantic as it thundered in her ears. His fingers dug into her tender flesh. The thin cotton sleeves offered no barrier. She flinched but refused to beg for mercy. She had a feeling that, even if she'd asked, there wasn't an ounce of mercy in this man.
"Looks like we've reached an impasse," he said, his voice tight and strained, giving unneeded evidence to his barely leashed temper. "I want my apology; you won't give it. Problem is, you see, I don't intend to leave until you do."
"What?" Amanda glared at him, positive she'd heard wrong. She must have! "That's ridiculous. Of course you're leaving."
His condescending grin didn't come close to reaching his eyes. They remained hard, shimmering like chips of silver ice. "Am I?"
"Yes!"
"You're sure?"
"Yes!"
"Guess again." He shook his head, and his damp hair flicked her cheek. Amanda pulled back as if she'd been slapped. "I've got nowhere else to go right now." A tension-riddled pause was followed by, "One thing you should keep in mind, though... I get bored easily. And when I get bored with you, Miss Lennox, I intend to drag that apology out of you in any way that leaps to mind. Willing or not, I'll hear you say it."
In a way that was meant to convince her he fully intended to wait her out, Jake moved, redistributing her weight atop the solid cushion of his lap.
The movement shifted the air around Amanda's face. She drew in a shaky breath, and found herself inundated with an aroma that was strong and sharp and flagrantly male. Her nostrils stung with the earth-sharp scent of Jacob Blackhawk Chandler.
Courage. Had she ever had any? If so, it evaporated like steam the instant she let out that breath and drew in another. The meaning of bravery was suddenly foreign to her. The fear she'd only touched on before was strong, yet minor compared to the white-hot tingle of awareness that rippled through her now. Her breath clogged in her throat. Her heart clamored against her ribs, pumping hot surges of adrenaline into her bloodstream.
She huddled deeply beneath the blanket, deciding belatedly that she would have been better off keeping her mouth shut; as always, it was getting her into trouble. Since talking reason to this man was like trying to converse with a stone, she decided instead to bide her time, wait him out. Surely he would tire of the game shortly. When he did, he would go. Wouldn't he? Of course. He must have better things to do with his day... like finishing whatever he'd been about before Roger had found him.
A half hour ticked by. Except for occasionally shifting his weight, Jake didn't move. He made no signs of leaving.
Amanda sighed. The sun was at its zenith, telling her she'd already missed half a day's travel. Great! At this rate she'd be lucky to get Roger home by Christmas.
Fifteen minutes ago she'd decided she really had only one choice left. She was going to have to give this arrogant beast his apology. Only then would she be allowed to scramble off his lap. Only then would he leave her in peace.
It was the lap in question that gave birth to the decision. As time passed, Amanda had become more acutely aware of it. Now, half an hour later, she found herself much too intimately acquainted with the corded bands of muscle beneath her—not to mention the peculiar, tingly sensations all that raw warmth and strength sparked deep inside of her.
Why, oh why, had she ever called him a bastard? Because he was acting like one. He still was. But that no longer mattered. Getting off his lap did.
Amanda swallowed her pride; it tasted sour in her throat. As she lifted her cheek from the cushion of his warm, damp chest, she reminded herself that she really didn't have a choice. She glanced up at him. Her lips parted as their gazes met and held.