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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.
    She never knew if she would have been able to push the distasteful words off her tongue. A distant scream robbed her of the chance to find out.
    The high, ear-piercing wail sliced through the air; the sound more alarming because it was so easily recognizable.
    Roger! Oh, dear God...
    Jake Chandler had heard it too. She felt him tense, even as his grip on her loosened. "The kid?" he asked, his mouth suddenly very close to her ear.
    "I think so." She turned her head, focusing her gaze on the thick line of trees. "Roger?" she called out, and the single word felt as if it were torn from her throat. "Roger!"
    Silence was her only