The Viper (Highland Guard #4)(59)

God’s blood, did she always have to be so stubborn? He didn’t want to argue with her. His mouth fell in a hard line. “And I meant what I said. My job is to get you to safety, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.” Seeing her mulish expression, he dragged his fingers through his hair. “Christ, Bella, try to see reason. Be patient. Your daughter is safe as long as the English believe you are in that convent. They don’t know you escaped, but every minute you stay on English soil you put that at risk.”

It put all of them at risk. He was antsy enough as it was. The price on his head made him a fat target—and he had too many enemies. Despite his nonchalance to Bruce, Lachlan couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there.

“I’ve been patient for three years. My daughter is not twenty miles from here. Twenty miles,” she repeated. The soft plea in her voice tugged at him mercilessly. “It’s the closest I’ve been to her since I left her at Balvenie. I can’t leave without at least trying to contact her. With Buchan dead, she’s all alone, Lachlan.” Her voice caught. “I just need to make sure she’s all right.”

He didn’t want to hear her fear, her desperation, damn it. He didn’t want to look down, didn’t want to look into her big, imploring blue eyes. He didn’t want to remind himself that the specter of a husband no longer stood between them.

His jaw locked. He couldn’t let himself be swayed. Going off without intelligence, without a plan, was a sure way to end up in another English prison. It was better to wait. Get Bella to safety, and then when the time was right, make plans to find her daughter. “I’m sorry. I can’t. It’s not part of my mission.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

She lashed out in anger. “Is that all this is to you, Lachlan? Another mission? Another bag of silver to collect?” Scorn dripped from her voice. “I thought you might have changed. That after two years of fighting for Robert you might realize that there were things worth fighting for. But you’re exactly the same. It’s still all about the money.”

Damned right it was all about the money! Free Bella. Get the job done. Collect his reward. Pay off his debts. Retire in peace. Follow nobody’s orders but his own. That was all he wanted.

He stared down into her upturned face, seeing the beautiful features so achingly close, and felt a pull of desire too strong to resist. Nay, it wasn’t all he wanted. He wanted her. Every bit as badly as he had before.

His fists clenched. His control pulled taut as a bowstring.

This was all her fault. She was confusing him. He didn’t care, damn it. Not about Bruce. Not about the Highland Guard. And sure as hell not about her. No loyalties to get in the way. No loyalties to betray him.

He was a selfish bastard. A mercenary. Not much better than the pirate she’d first accused him of being.

He knew three emotions in his life when it came to women: disappointment, hatred, and lust. Not much to offer one of the most noble women in Scotland who’d become a hero.

Damn her for doing this to him.

“Three years,” he corrected. It was three years ago he’d joined the other members of the Highland Guard on the Isle of Skye for training. “And of course it’s about the money.” A sneer turned his mouth. His eyes drifted down, sliding over her formfitting clothes in a hot caress. “So unless you can think of a way to pay me, this discussion is over.”

She gasped, her eyes widening in shock. She drew her hand back to give him the slap he surely deserved. Before it fell across his face, he caught her wrist and twisted it down around her back, pinning her against him. Bodies locked, he stared down into her furious face—the face that had haunted him for two bloody years—and felt the battle seep out of him as he gave in to the demon of desire roaring inside him.

He’d been a fool to think he could control this.

His mouth fell on hers. Hot and hungry. Starved from two years of deprivation. Two years of wanting a woman who would never be his.

Eleven

Lachlan groaned at the contact. She tasted so good. Warm and sweet, with a faint hint of the wine he’d left for her.

She gasped, whether in shock or protest he didn’t know. For one agonizing heartbeat she went stiff in his arms, and he thought she would push him away. But then he felt her soften, felt the shudder of desire tremble through her, and she melted into his embrace.

A rush of heat poured through him as his body flooded with desires long kept in check. He hardened. Throbbed. Blood pounded through every vein in his body.

He dug his fingers through the soft dampness of her hair, cupping the back of her head in his palm to bring her mouth even closer, bending her into him as he drank in every inch of her. Her soft scent floated around him in a haze of intoxicating fragrance. He couldn’t seem to get enough. He wanted with a desperation he’d never known before.

When she opened her mouth, he nearly lost his mind. Blood roared in his head. Sliding in his tongue, he kissed her deeper. Claiming every inch of that sweet mouth and growling with pleasure when the first tentative strokes of her tongue met his. The innocence of her response nearly undid him.

This felt too good. He’d dreamed of this for too long.

He couldn’t seem to calm the wicked sensations raging inside him. He wanted her too badly; his body had been too long denied.

His mouth moved over her jaw, down her neck, tasting every inch of velvety-soft skin. Christ, she was sweet. Ambrosia to a man who’d been starving for too long.