The Viper

by Monica McCarty

He forgot all about what he was trying to prove. She moaned, arching her back as he sank in as deep as he could go. He kissed her throat. Her breasts. Circling her nipples with his tongue before sucking them deep into his mouth.

  It was hot. So incredibly hot.

  She began to move. Riding him as she’d taunted. Lifting over him with slow, erotic little circles of her hips. Looking deep into his eyes the entire time.

  It felt as if she were holding him by a string and cinching him closer and closer until the connection between them was so strong it seemed as if they were one.

  He groaned, the sensations washing over him in a hot, drenching heat. The way she moved, the long, languid rhythm of her hips moving up and down, and the sultry heat in the stable combined in the most seductive, erotic dance of his life.

  She started to go faster. Taking him in and out of her body at a wicked pace as her pleasure intensified, riding him with wild abandon. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  She held her hands on his shoulders, using them for leverage as she thrust him deep into her body. Her face was only a few inches from his. Her breasts bounced against his chest. She held his gaze as she clenched around him, drawing him in with slow little pulls.

  He’d wanted to show her that this was only lust; instead it had become the most incredible, intimate moment of his life.

  He felt it again. That hard pull. That dragging under. That sensation of drowning in a whirlpool of something he didn’t understand.

  He was falling. Lost in sensation and the promise in her eyes. He couldn’t seem to get close enough.

  He slid his arm around her waist and kissed her fiercely, succumbing for a moment before suddenly jerking away.

  Furious at himself, at her for doing this to him, he held her hips still. “Enough,” he growled harshly. This position was too intimate.

  The sudden curtailment of pleasure brought a confused look to her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “I want you on your knees so I can take you from behind.”

  He hated himself even as he said it. He was skating too close to what had happened with her husband and knew it. The base demand. Treating her more like a whore than a woman to be cherished.

  Her eyes widened, and the look on her face cut him to the quick.

  He’d gone too far. He knew he’d gone to far.

  She would never forgive him for this. Maybe it was what he wanted. It would be better this way. Acid ate in his chest, settling low in his belly. It felt so wrong, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

  Tell me no. Slap me like I deserve.

  “Well?” he threw down the gauntlet.

  Part of him wanted her to put a stop to this. The other part feared she would.

  “Am I supposed to run away now? Is this supposed to scare me off? You have no idea.” She shook her head. “Why are you doing this, Lachlan? Why are you acting so mean?”

  “I am mean. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

  She held his gaze. She looked at him with compassion and something else. Something that made his heart flip over in his chest. “Aye, I’ve figured it out.”

  The understanding in her voice only made him angrier. “Do you want to fuck or not?” he snapped.

  The vulgarity had no effect on her. She lifted her chin. “Is that what you want?”

  He heard the challenge in her voice and knew what she was asking: Is that all you want? She wanted more from him. He gritted his teeth. “Aye.”

  Neither one of them believed it.

  She shook her head as if he were a child who’d disappointed her. And hell if he didn’t feel like it.

  She lifted herself off him and stood. She was going to leave. He held his breath, a heartbeat away from stopping her. From calling her back. From drawing her against him and showing her all the gentleness and tenderness that she deserved. That he wanted to give her, damn it, but didn’t know how.

  He should have known better. Bella MacDuff was a fighter.

  Slowly, she lowered herself to the ground, spreading out the plaid near the fire. Then, holding his gaze the entire time, she positioned herself on her hands and knees. His heart stopped beating. Not from the mouthwatering display of her sleek backside—although it was spectacular—but from the trust shining in her eyes. Trust he didn’t want, damn it, and sure as hell didn’t deserve.

  He couldn’t breathe through the tightness in his lungs. She was so beautiful and defiant. Daring him to treat her like this. Daring him to deny her.

  Bella watched him struggle, knowing he was scared. Knowing that he was battling himself, not her, and fighting what she offered with everything he had. He lashed back the way he always did, finding the weakness and going in for the kill.

  Did he honestly think he could get to her like this? She’d been played by the master of cruelty and domination and endured far worse than Lachlan could ever manage.

  She hated that he used the pain of her past against her. But even more, she hated that he was taking what they had and trying to turn it into something base and meaningless.

  But it wasn’t. He was trying so hard to be harsh and crude, but the very next minute his tender touch would soothe the sting of his words. He cared. She was sure of it. The way he looked into her eyes, the way he touched her, left her no doubt. What they had was different. She just needed to make him see it.

  “Well,” she asked softly. “Is this not what you wanted?”

  Bella wanted him to tell her no. She wanted him to see that he didn’t need to do this. She wanted him to pull her into his arms. To slide her down gently on the plaid and kiss her until this was all forgotten. To make love to her with all the passion and emotion she sensed burning inside him.

  To admit there was more to them than this.

  But he clenched his jaw, banished his indecision, and moved behind her. He was on his knees, his braies sliding down around them, as he gripped her hips and positioned himself between her legs.

  But he didn’t enter her.

  Her body twitched nervously. She’d assumed this position many times before and had always found it particularly unpleasant—degrading and base.

  But it wasn’t, she realized. Not with Lachlan. She trusted him. He wouldn’t hurt her.

  He splayed his hands on her backside, moving them possessively over her buttocks. “You are so beautiful,” he said hoarsely.

  She felt strangely restless—as though she needed to move. His heavy erection pressed intimately against her, but all he did was touch her. And did he touch her! His hands caressed every inch of her. Sliding over her bottom, along her hips, and up to softly cup her breasts. When one big, battle-worn hand dipped between her legs she gasped.

  He tucked her firmly against him, holding her close and cradling her bottom against his groin. The thick, hot column of flesh wedged against her. She could feel the light dusting of hair on his hard, muscular thighs against the back of hers. One hand plied her breast as the other slipped between her legs.

  “Tell me if you don’t want this,” he whispered tightly in her ear.

  He was giving her the choice. Her heart leapt. It was what she’d been waiting for. He wanted to bully and dominate, to turn this into something base and meaningless, but he couldn’t.

  He did care.

  A rush of heat and dampness had gathered between her legs. His erection pressed more insistently against her backside. Nudging her. Giving her a heady taste of what was to come. In answer she pressed back against him, arching her back to the right angle to accommodate him.

  Heat washed over her. She shouldn’t be feeling this way. Eager. Aroused. Wickedly naughty. The thick head teased at her opening.

  Aye, she wanted this. More than she’d ever imagined.

  He made a harsh sound behind her, pinching her nipple with one hand as the other delved skillfully between her legs. He was opening her wider, using her dampness to ready her for him.

  “Tell me,”
he demanded. “Do you want me inside you?”

  She started to pant, writhe, pressing harder and more insistently against the tip of hard flesh poised achingly against her. He was so close, teasing her with his size.

  His fingers stroked her harder, faster, deeper, bringing her to the edge …

  “Yes. Please,” she cried helplessly, knowing what she sought was close.

  He swore, ramming into her in one hard thrust, filling her completely, and sending her careening into the mindless oblivion of pleasure.

  She cried out, her body shuddering around him as he pumped into her at just the right speed, drawing it out. Slow and deep, long and tender.

  “That’s it, love, come for me. God, you feel so good.”

  Love. Her heart clung to that single word. Happiness bloomed inside her like a flower opening in the first rays of spring. New. Fresh. Beautiful.

  He was holding her so close. Cradling her body to his. This was nothing like the animalistic mating she’d experienced before. She felt safe, cherished, protected.

  Just when she thought it was over, he sent her over again. He sank into her fully, pulling her hard against him so it seemed as if he were touching the deepest part of her. He held her there, cradled against him, filling her from behind and grinding against her, as his fingers stroked her mercilessly from the front.

  It was amazing. Beautiful. Tender in a way she’d never imagined.

  She cried out, clenching, spasming, shattering, until he’d wrested every last bit of pleasure from her that he could. Or so she thought.

  Lachlan couldn’t stand it. The burning in his chest intensified. Hearing her cries of pleasure—knowing that he was the one responsible—and not being able to see her face was killing him.

  Before he realized what he was doing, he’d turned her over, laid her down gently on the plaid, and surged into her again. This time, holding her tightly under him.

  She gasped, eyes wide.

  He stilled. “Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head, a joyful smile curving her mouth. She cupped his cheek in her hand. “Nay. I love how you make me feel.”

  Love. The look in her eyes …

  Something shifted in his chest. Something he’d thought impossible.

  Holding her gaze, he started to move. Long, slow, sensual strokes that dragged him deeper with every thrust. His jaw clenched against the raw pleasure surging inside him.

  He was hot, heavy. Trying to make it last, but it felt too good.

  Her lips parted. Her cheeks flushed. Her eyes fell to half-lidded slits. Her breath started to come in sharp little gasps. Her fingers tightened in his shoulders …

  And then her hips started to lift, meeting his thrust with one of her own.

  It was too much. Sensation surged hard inside him. He couldn’t hold on. He pumped harder, grinding into her with each frantic stroke, needing to take her with him.

  Her body arched. She started to cry out.

  He let go, coming into her with a ferocity he’d never experienced before. Each pulse, each spasm, each sharp burst of pleasure seemed wrenched from the deepest part of him.

  The entire time he was looking into her eyes. Being pulled in.

  He barely had the strength to roll to the side before his muscles gave out. He collapsed beside her, breathing hard, more spent than he’d ever been in his life. Even being forced to run up the Cuillins during MacLeod’s training hadn’t taken so much out of him.

  He was glad he was too exhausted to think for a while, because when he realized what he’d just done, the moments of sated bliss were all forgotten.

  Shame burned in his gut. How could he have done that? How could he have tried to hurt her like that?

  He’d played a dangerous game and lost. He’d wanted to prove to her that it didn’t mean anything, but it was he who’d been proved wrong. He could no longer deny it: He cared for her. More than he’d cared for anyone in his life.

  And still he’d hurt her. What the hell was wrong with him?

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raw.

  She rolled on her side, gazing up at him, with a sad smile that ate at his conscience. “I know.”

  She didn’t know anything. She didn’t understand him, damn it. She looked at him like he was someone he wasn’t. Like she saw something in him that wasn’t there. She expected too much from him. He could never be the man she wanted him to be. Didn’t she know he would always hurt her?

  A storm of conflicting emotions unfurled inside him. Longing. Resentment. Confusion. Anger. She was twisting him up in knots, making him forget what was important.

  His jaw clenched. “This doesn’t change anything.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. He steeled himself against the shadow of hurt in her eyes. “So it was just fucking, is that right, Lachlan?”

  She threw the ugly word back at him like a taunt, daring him to agree with her.

  His chest pounded. He felt as if the walls were closing in. As if he were walking into a dark tunnel. Why couldn’t she stop pushing him? Why couldn’t she just leave him alone?

  Freedom, damn it. No ties.

  He looked her right in the eye. “Aye.”

  She held his gaze for a long time. “You’re a liar, Lachlan MacRuairi. You can lie to me, but don’t lie to yourself.”

  Without another word, she picked up her clothes, pulled them on, and left him alone to the dark hammering of his own heart.

  Bella waited for him to change his mind. From the time Sir Alex woke her in the early hours of the morning to ride the short distance to the coast, to the anxious minutes she waited in darkness while the men swam in the frigid waters of the sea to steal a galley out from under the noses of the sleeping English soldiers who commanded it, to the long hours being battered by the wind and waves as the three men struggled to man a ship usually sailed by ten times that number, she told herself Lachlan would admit the truth.

  He cared for her. It wasn’t just lust between them. She knew the difference, and what they’d shared was nothing like what she’d known before.

  He pretended to be a mocking brigand who didn’t care about anything, but she knew it was just a mask. He cared far more than he let on—about her and the men he fought with. He wouldn’t turn his back on them.

  Even when they finally arrived at Dunstaffnage Castle late that evening to a hero’s welcome from Robert and a small contingent of his men, she convinced herself it wasn’t too late. Lachlan wouldn’t let her down. He wouldn’t deny the promise of what lay between them. He wouldn’t just walk away from her. Not after all they’d been through together. Not after what they’d shared. It wasn’t lust, but two people making love. The connection was real.

  This couldn’t be the end.

  He was scared, she told herself, confused. Just give him time.

  But it turned out time was the one thing she didn’t have.

  They’d been ushered into a small solar off the Great Hall and given food and drink while Lachlan reported on all that had happened. In addition to herself, Lachlan, Boyd, Seton, and the king, four other men sat around the trestle table. The oldest, Sir Neil Campbell, one of Bruce’s closest advisors, was well known to her from the months they’d spent in hiding in the hills of Atholl after Methven. The most forbidding, Tor MacLeod, a West Highland chief from the Isle of Skye, and the tall, devilishly handsome Norseman, Erik MacSorley, she recalled from that time as well. They’d stuck out as unusual, and now she could guess why. They must be part of this secret band of warriors.

  The fourth man, Arthur Campbell, Sir Neil’s much younger brother, was a stranger to her. Although he seemed to fit the imaginary criteria she’d constructed in her mind for Bruce’s secret army: tall, muscular, and formidable-looking—not to mention unusually attractive—she couldn’t be sure whether he was part of the group as well. From what she could gather, Sir Arthur had been fighting for the enemy and had been made keeper of Dunstaffnage Castle on his recent marriage to Anna MacDougall, the L
ord of Lorn’s daughter.

  Lachlan did not leave anything out. Despite her protest, he assumed full blame for the disaster that had nearly befallen them in Roxburgh and their ensuing capture in Peebles. Though the king let him continue uninterrupted, Bella, who was seated next to him, could tell Robert wasn’t pleased to hear what had transpired. All of the men exchanged uneasy glances when Lachlan spoke of the soldier’s intention to question her about him.

  “By the rood! What were you thinking?” The king was furious. “I knew it was a bad idea to let you go.”

  Bella tried to explain again. “I’m afraid I am to blame for what happened, Sire. I refused to return to Scotland until I’d seen my daughter. Lachlan ordered me to stay away from the castle, but I disobeyed him. None of this is his fault.”

  “He was in charge,” Robert said angrily. “It was his mission.”

  She could see the big Norseman eyeing Lachlan speculatively. “I must say I’m surprised. It isn’t like you to be so amenable, cousin.”

  Bella was surprised to hear they were kinsmen. Although they were of similar build, the two men couldn’t have been more different. Blond, blue-eyed, and good-humored, with a charm that was unmistakable, Erik MacSorley was the light to Lachlan’s dark.

  Lachlan shot him a glare of warning, but the other man simply grinned.

  Bella’s cheeks warmed, guessing the cause for his amusement.

  The king put his hand on hers, perhaps sensing her embarrassment. “We will speak of this later,” he said, looking right at Lachlan. He turned back to her. “The important thing is that you are safe. For two years I have prayed for this day. Knowing what you and the others were enduring …” He paused, clearing the emotion from his throat. “Having you returned gives me hope that I will be welcoming the rest of my family home soon.” His eyes darkened. “Edward will rot in hell for what he has done to you—and to Mary. I owe you a debt that can never be repaid. I would give you a celebration worthy of your sacrifice if I could.”

  Bella shook her head. “The fewer people who know of my release, the better. At least until my daughter is safely returned to me.”

  The king looked away uncomfortably. “You will stay here until we decide what is to be done,” he said to her with a glance to Sir Arthur.