The Arrow by Monica McCarty
She’d never dreamed how good it would feel. How soft his lips would be. How she would be able to taste the faint tinge of mint from the paste that he’d used to clean his teeth. How the heat of his body would envelop her. How her skin would tingle. And most of all, how the gentle brush of his lips could stir such a powerful craving inside her for more.
A craving that only grew more intense when his lips pressed against hers and held. Softly at first, and then with increasing pressure that made her heart start to thud against her ribs with instinctive anticipation.
The sensations intensified and stirred faster. Hotter. Wonder and euphoria turned to burning desire and scorching need. She didn’t know what she wanted but sensed it hovering just beyond her reach.
She moaned in silent entreaty, and that was all it took to find out. It was as if a dam broke, and all the passion he’d been holding back came crashing out in a tidal wave.
She was suddenly in his arms, her body pressed against his. His fingers were digging through her hair to grip the back of her head and bring her mouth more fully—more possessively—against his.
Her gasp of surprise was followed by an even bigger one, when he took advantage of her open mouth to fill it with his tongue. Long, slow, incredible pulls of his tongue that demanded a response.
Tentatively she gave it to him, and the low groan that emanated from somewhere low inside him was all the answer she needed to know that it was the right one.
He kissed with the skill of a master craftsman, the experience of a rogue, and the expertise of a scholar. He knew exactly how to elicit every ounce of pleasure with each deft stroke. He showed her how to circle her tongue against his, how to stroke, how to thrust, how to tease, how to slant her mouth and take him deeper and deeper.
She became bolder, returning the kiss with a growing fervor that matched his own. But it wasn’t enough. Even when he bent her back and took her even deeper into the crook of his body, the hunger and craving only seemed to grow worse. The fervor became a frenzy—a violent storm of heavy breaths, pounding hearts, clashing mouths, and tangled tongues.
It was nothing like the controlled kisses she’d seen him give before. It was raw and intense and fiercely passionate. Ravenous. He kissed her like he was starving and would die if he didn’t have her. Like she was the only woman in the world for him, and he would never get enough of her.
And she knew she would never—ever—get enough of him. Gregor MacGregor would be the first man she ever kissed and the last. If she’d ever needed proof that they were meant to be, she had it. She belonged to him, and he could not longer deny it. The hot possessiveness of his embrace did not lie. He branded her with his mouth, his tongue, his hands, claiming every part of her.
The sensations were coming harder now, barreling through her in a fast-moving panoply of feeling and perception. The scratch of his jaw against her sensitive skin. The wet heat of his mouth as it devoured her neck and throat. The crush of her breasts against his chest. The tender throb of her nipples as his thumb brushed over them. The imprint of his hand on her hip. Her bottom. Cupping her and lifting her against his …
God have mercy.
Her stomach dropped at the size. She could feel him between her legs, thick and hard. A long column of steel riding up against her that sent a hot rush of dampness between her legs. Knowing what happened between a man and a woman, she would have thought the fit impossible.
But once he started to move, she reconsidered. The heat flooded. Her breasts grew heavy, and her body turned soft and melty. Pliant. Supple. Ready.
She caught her hands around his neck before her legs gave out. She was tingling—throbbing with something. She could barely stand and yet she needed to …
Move. Cate nearly cried out in relief, it felt so good. He felt so good. The gentle circling of hips became a hard grind as her body sought more pressure, more friction, more pleasure.
And God, how he gave it to her! His mouth, his tongue, his steely thickness.
Yet still her greedy body wasn’t satisfied. The ache intensified. Grew more insistent. Her soft moans quickened into gasps, pleading—begging—for relief from the frantic restlessness building inside her. She could feel his muscles straining under her fingertips, as he, too, fought the demands of his own desire.
Something wonderful was about to happen, and Cate couldn’t wait—she really couldn’t wait—to discover what it was.
Gregor had descended into madness. That was the only explanation for what was happening. What else but madness could explain the dark frenzy of need that had overtaken his mind, stripping him of rationality and turning the vaunted steel of his control to dust?
He knew he should stop, but he couldn’t force his limbs to pull back. She tasted too good. Her lips were too soft. Her skin was too sweet. Her mouth too warm. Her body too tight and firm.
Responsive? What a damned understatement. She was like a keg of Sutherland’s black powder, her passion ready to explode at the first spark. His spark. And the power of it—the danger—sent a thrill racing through him, even as he knew the threat.
Just one more taste—one more touch. But it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough until he was inside her and she was screaming his name as her body shattered around his.
And even then it might not be enough.
He pushed the errant thought away. That was ridiculous. It was lust—that was all.
But he’d never felt lust like this before. Lust that was raw and primitive and filled him with a blind need to make her his. Lust that knew no bounds of honor. Lust that rose inside him and wouldn’t let go. It took hold and gripped—hard.
Aye, he was hard. So damned hard. And the feeling of her sliding against him, riding up on him as she made those breathy little gasps of pleasure, knowing how close she was to shattering just from the sensation of his cock between her legs, almost took him over the edge.
Right there in the practice yard, in the shadow of the barracks, in the middle of the afternoon where anyone could come upon them, he nearly made her come and lost himself like a squire with his first maid. The realization—the small intrusion of reality in his lust-crazed brain—gave him just enough strength to pull away. Harshly. With a few choice curses.
She stumbled, but managed to steady herself before she fell—which was a good thing, as he was in no condition to react.
His body was on fire. Every muscle was flexed and taut, as he fought to control the desire still coursing through his blood like wildfire. He felt as tight as one of his bowstrings, primed, drawn, and ready to unfurl. One touch, one push, and she’d be back in his arms again.
He couldn’t do that. He could never do that again. But he wanted to do that again right now. Especially when she looked up at him with her flushed cheeks, kiss-bruised lips, and dazed-from-passion-filled eyes. God, she was sweet. Responsive. Eager. Passionate. As passionate as he’d known she would be. Nay, more.
“What happened?”
I almost made you shatter. I lost my mind and almost went too far.
But he didn’t say that. He found a grip on his sanity and forced his blood to cool. “I gave you your first kiss.”
And very nearly a whole hell of a lot more.
“Why did you stop?”
“Because it was over.”
Her brows drew together over her nose. “It didn’t feel over.”
God help him. He nearly groaned. It would be nice, really nice, especially right now when he was trying not to think about it again, if she didn’t say exactly what was on her mind. “Well, it was. You’ll have to take my word for it.”
She stared at him, looking as if she were going to argue. But then a slow, maybe even slightly shy, smile turned her mouth. “It was wonderful, but maybe next time you could keep going—”
“Next time?” Something remarkably like fear made his voice come out louder and more forcefully than he intended. “There isn’t going to be a next time.”
The smile fell. “What do you mean
Her voice fell off and she gazed up at him with such confusion in her eyes, he almost reached for her. Almost. But nothing had changed—except now he knew how dangerous it was to touch her. He was not the man for her, and no matter how much he wanted to be the one to show her passion, he would not be the one to do so.
His instincts rebelled, but he pushed them aside. “It was just a kiss, Cate. Don’t read anything more into it. Nothing has changed.”
Cate stared at him in shock, noting the stubborn set of the jaw that she could still feel scratching against her neck and throat as he ravished her. Just a kiss? Nothing has changed? How could he say that after what happened? She might be innocent and inexperienced, but she was not stupid. That kiss had meant something—and not just to her. He had felt it, too, though he might wish her to think differently.
Aye, that’s exactly what he wanted. Her eyes narrowed. “So you felt nothing special, is that what you are saying?”
She was rewarded by a wicked spark of green in those heavenly eyes. “I think you know exactly what I felt.”
Her gaze dropped instinctively, and even knowing he was trying to embarrass her didn’t stop her cheeks from heating at the memory of how he’d felt between her legs. An ache fluttered low in her belly, but she wouldn’t let him distract her. “Ah, yes, only lust, isn’t that right? You know it’s funny, but I don’t recall your kiss with Seonaid or Màiri or any of the other women I’ve seen you with looking quite the same. But then again, I’m no expert on the subject.” She smiled. “Although I hope that will not be the case for long.”
His expression changed so quickly, she didn’t have time to react. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward him, his gaze penetrating. “What are you talking about? I told you there won’t be a next time.”
She smiled sweetly, despite the fingers digging into her arm and the furious, gritted-teeth expression of the menacing-looking warrior trying to stare her down. “With you, perhaps.”
His eyes turned so dark they almost looked black. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Carefully, she unfurled his fingers from around her arm, and then brushed at the spot as if his touch had been merely an annoyance and was not like a brand upon her skin. “What do you think it means? Now that I’ve had my first kiss, I wonder what I’ve been waiting for. It was quite nice.”
“Nice?” he blustered, obviously not happy with her choice of adjective.
“Aye, quite nice, but then again, unlike you I have nothing to compare it to. Yet.” She quirked a brow, eyeing him suspiciously. “I’m also rather curious as to what comes next. I do have the feeling you were forgetting something.”
For one moment she thought she’d pushed him too far. He looked like he couldn’t decide whether to shove her up against the nearest wall and finish what they’d started or bend her over his knee.
He did neither. But his gaze pinned her like hot green stakes. “I didn’t forget a damned thing. And you won’t be finding out what comes next until you are married. As long as I am your guardian, you will not be kissing anyone—anyone—do you understand me? I’ll not have your reputation besmirched—”
She gave a sharp laugh. “That is a bit ironic coming from you, isn’t it? It was just a kiss, remember? And as the only man I would consider marrying has made it clear he has no wish to marry me, I will not be marrying anyone. I’m sure my reputation can withstand the potential damage of a few harmless kisses.”
Her skin prickled from the heat of his gaze. “Do not press me, Cate. I know what you are trying to do, and it won’t work. I will not change my mind.”
She met the challenge with one of her own. “Is that so?”
His jaw clamped down so hard, she thought his teeth might crack. “Aye.”
She held his gaze. “We shall see.” She started to walk away, turning back when she remembered what he’d said. “What time should I be ready?”
Clearly, she’d confused him. For once he looked ruffled, and she decided she liked it—liked it quite a lot. The thought that she could unbalance the untouchable Gregor MacGregor sent a distinctly heady thrill of feminine power shooting through her.
“For what?”
“You were going to teach me some new moves.” She paused. “On the practice yard.”
“I know what you meant,” he snapped, although it was clear he’d been thinking about moves in a different place. “After the midday meal. I have some business to attend to in the morning.”
“I’ll be looking forward to it,” she said.
By the way he gritted his teeth, she assumed the feeling wasn’t mutual. That he was obviously not looking forward to being in close proximity to her put a distinct bounce in her step as she walked away.
Just a kiss, ha! She’d never thought she’d see the day, but Gregor MacGregor, the most feared archer in the Highlands, was scared—of her. He was fighting the inevitable with everything he had, but it wouldn’t be enough. She knew that as well as he did, although he wasn’t ready to admit it yet. But he would. It might take a few more of those “just” kisses to prove it to him, but what was between them was special. For the first time, Cate felt as if her dreams were truly within reach.
Ten
Gregor watched her flounce away and wondered what the hell had just happened. He looked around the practice yard, expecting to see trees unearthed, crates turned over, and hay scattered all over the place. All signs of the maelstrom that had just knocked him off his feet. Maelstrom Cate.
What had come over him? This was Caitrina. Little Caitrina. The lass he was supposed to be responsible for. The lass he was supposed to protect. From the beginning, he’d felt a strange protectiveness toward her, but that sure as hell didn’t include nearly ravishing her in the courtyard.
What could he have been thinking to kiss her like that? He hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem. He’d been too busy feeling—bloody incredible, as it turned out. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before. He’d never lost control like that. He didn’t lose control. And sure as hell not from a kiss.
The worst part was that she knew it, and thought it meant something.
It meant something, all right. It meant he wanted to take her to his bed and swive her senseless, not marry her. But as he couldn’t do the first without the second, he was going to have to pretend that kiss had never happened.
As if that were possible, when every time he looked at her he’d be thinking of how sweet her mouth had tasted, how silky her tongue had been sliding against his, how tight her body had felt under his hands, how firm her breasts had been, and how she’d made all those eager, breathy gasps in his ear as she’d rubbed against him. Wantonly.
Don’t think about it.
Right. It was all he could think about. Kissing her had been an even bigger mistake than he’d feared. A little damaged womanly pride on her part was nothing compared to the torture he’d be suffering until he could return to Bruce.
Stalking across the yard, he ducked into the armory to retrieve his bow. He stood there looking at it for a moment before picking up a throwing spear instead. He’d been idle from warfare for too long. That was his problem. Once he was back on the battlefield, he would forget all about Cate and her madness-inducing kisses and concentrate on what he did best: eliminating targets and seeing the man whom he’d come to believe in more than any other secure on his throne.
Gregor might have joined the Guard to get away from Isobel and prove himself more than a “pretty” face, but he’d stayed because of Robert Bruce. It was Bruce he believed in, Bruce he fought for, and Bruce whom he never wanted to fail.
There wouldn’t be another disappointment like Berwick.
But he wasn’t ready for his bow yet. If anything, he was more distracted than when he’d arrived, damn it.
He cursed and was about to step out of the armory when a man blocked the doorway.
“What the hell was that about?” John asked.
John’s eyes narrowed. “What did it look like? I was training her.”
“It looked like more than training to me. It looked like you were thinking about kissing her.”
John’s eyes sparked dangerously. But Gregor didn’t heed the warning. His younger brother was a good fighter, but Gregor was one of the best.
“So what if I was? She’s a cute girl.”
This time it was Gregor who threatened. He stepped closer to his brother, his arms tensing and flexing for a fight. She wasn’t a girl, and she wasn’t cute. She was more than that. “You aren’t going to deny it?”
“Why should I?”
“Because she’s our responsibility, damn it. She’s under our protection. Taking advantage of her like that is wrong.”
“Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?”
Gregor threw a fist at his chin, which John deftly blocked. The follow-up blow to his ribs, however, he did not, and it landed with a satisfying thud. Satisfaction wasn’t long, though, as John recovered quickly and retaliated with a blow to Gregor’s side. After a few more exchanges of fists, an elbow, and a knee, they were both bloody, bruised, and breathing heavily.
Gregor felt better already. This was just what he needed. “Stay away from her, John. I’ll be taking over her ‘training’ for now. She’s not for you.”
“Then who is she for? One of the men you’ve been writing to? Have you found her a suitable husband yet?”
Gregor gritted his teeth, not sure whether he wanted to answer or throw another punch. “Nay, not yet.”
“You know what I think? I think you’re jealous. I think you haven’t found her a husband because you can’t stand the thought of her with someone else. Even me.”
Gregor saw red. “So you do want her?”