The Viper Read online

  “Don’t you see, it isn’t about me. It never has been.”

  He didn’t see it at all. He never would. That was part of the problem. Things bigger than yourself, she’d said once. “Was it worth it?”

  She flinched as if he’d hit her. The stricken look on her face almost made him wish his question back. Her chin quivered. “It has to be.”

  The desperate plea in her voice did something to him. For one moment he almost thought he could be the man to help her make sure it was.

  Apparently, she was under the same foolish impression, because she would not relent. “I thought you were a man who finished the job, not left it half done.”

  The words pricked. She knew him better than he wanted to admit. Not my fight …

  “I’ve done what I set out to do. It’s over for me.”

  But not for her. She was a fighter. She would go on fighting as long as there was a breath in her body. Even for lost causes like him.

  “So none of it matters to you?” she taunted. “You don’t care about anything? Not whether Robert succeeds in freeing Scotland from England? Not whether your friends die?”

  He just wanted to shut her up. He stepped closer, looming over her threateningly, fists clenched at his side. “They’re not my friends.”

  “They aren’t?” she challenged. He knew what she was going to say. Don’t say it. “And what about me, Lachlan. Don’t you don’t care about—?”

  He grabbed her before she could say it, backing her against a tree. He didn’t want to care about her, about any of it. But she just kept digging and digging until she drew blood.

  He’d had enough. She’d pushed him too damned far.

  He pressed his body into hers, crudely wedging his cock between her legs. “You want to know what I care about, Bella? This is what I care about. I want to fuck you so badly, I can’t think straight. I want to bury my tongue between your legs and lick you until you come against my face.”

  She gasped.

  He sneered. “So unless you’re ready to get down on your knees and wrap that incredible mouth around my cock, leave me the hell alone.”

  She should have told him to go to hell. That’s what he wanted her to do. But Bella never did what she was supposed to do. Instead she smiled knowingly—as if she understood him. Which was impossible, since he didn’t even understand himself.

  “Am I getting a little too close to the truth, Lachlan?” The subtle taunt infuriated him. “Be as mean and crude as you like—you won’t frighten me away.”

  His eyes darkened. Maybe not. But this sure as hell would. His mouth fell on hers in a rush of savage ferocity.

  He’d warned her.

  Fifteen

  Bella had pushed him too far. Perhaps it was what she’d intended all along. This heat, this passion, this madness simmering between them had gone on for too long. She was done fighting it.

  There was nothing stopping her. Buchan was dead. Her duty to him—if she’d owed him one—was gone.

  Her long imprisonment, not knowing when or if she would ever be free, had taught her to take what moments of joy and pleasure she could eke out of life when she could. There might not be another chance.

  And somehow she knew this would give her pleasure unlike anything she’d ever known. She wanted to feel passion just once in her life. Even if that were all that could ever be between them. His offer was clear—as it had always been. He’d never claimed to want anything more from her than this.

  She didn’t want anything more from him … did she?

  On the surface nothing had changed. He was still a bastard. Still the man who was said to have betrayed his clan and murdered his wife. Still a ruthless mercenary who sold his sword to the highest bidder and claimed to care about nothing.

  But he cared far more than he let on. His reaction to her questions told her that. The meaner he got, the cruder he got, the more she knew she’d gotten to him. He used his forked tongue as a weapon and a shield—to push people away when they got too close and prevent them from looking at him too closely. But she sensed a deep sadness inside him. The blackness wasn’t in his soul, but in the dark cloud hanging over it.

  Still, his coarse words had shocked her. Of all the licentious acts her husband had forced upon her, he’d never done that. The thought of Lachlan’s mouth there, his hot tongue probing her intimately …

  She shuddered, her body quivering where he was so firmly notched against her.

  The moment his mouth fell on hers, Bella knew there was no going back. His kiss was hot and hungry, every bit as raw and primal as the passion storming between them.

  He bent her into him. Kissing her deeper. Molding her to the hard length of his body. She could feel every ridge, every bulge, every steely edge of muscle, as his body seemed to consume hers, melding together in a perfect fusion of heat.

  His tongue circled against hers, urging—nay, demanding—her response.

  She kissed him back, matching every carnal thrust with one of her own. His dark, spicy taste filled her senses, blinding her to anything but him.

  This was no tender wooing, no smooth seduction, but a violent conflagration of desperate need between two people who wanted only one thing.

  This fierce need, this desperation, this passion … she’d never thought to feel like this. Never imagined she could be so overcome. Never imagined she could feel this kind of connection to anyone. It seemed unreal that this could be happening to her. That the woman who’d experienced only coldness for years could find pleasure in the arms of one of the meanest, most feared and reviled men in Scotland.

  But there was more to him than that. He was hard but not bad. Not as bad as he wanted to be, anyway. He’d just never had anyone to care for him. Never had anyone he could trust. She just needed to give him a chance. He was worth fighting for.

  His mouth was so hot, each slanted movement, each swirl of his tongue stoking the flames a little higher. The heat of his kiss seemed to reach down to her toes, dragging her under. Her heart seemed slammed against her chest, fluttering wildly with every stroke.

  She gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging into the studded leather of his cotun, needing to feel him even closer. He was so big and strong, and on some base level she needed that, his warrior’s body as hard and unyielding as steel but as warm and comforting as the softest, warmest plaid.

  In his arms, she would never be cold again.

  She groaned when his big hands cupped her bottom, bringing her firmly against his hardness. A strange shudder trembled through her. Fear and excitement all at once. He seemed so … big. Every inch of the thick column of his manhood felt branded against her.

  How would he …?

  She bit her lip. How would they …?

  Surely it would hurt?

  But then he thrust against her, moving his hips in a slow, wicked rhythm that mimicked the movements of lovemaking, and she no longer cared.

  Heat rose inside her. She felt the need intensify. Dampness flooded between her legs in a hot rush. Gathering. Concentrating. Coiling in a tight ball of restless desire.

  Her skin flushed. Her breath hitched in uneven gasps.

  He rubbed against her, increasing the friction, increasing her need.

  She needed to move faster. Harder. She arched against him, feeling something strange come over her. She was climbing, reaching for something that hovered just out of her reach.

  She didn’t recognize the sounds coming from her. Urgent little moans she didn’t fully understand.

  He’d stopped kissing her. His mouth was on her neck, trailing down her throat, delving between her breasts. Ravishing. The scrape of his beard sending a delicious burn along the sensitive path of her skin.

  He was groaning too, sounding almost as if he were in pain.

  She sucked in her breath. Her body stilled, quivered, and then catapulted into a place of utter ecstasy. A place she’d never been before.

  She cried out her pleasure, shattering into a thousand rays of