FLAME OF DESIRE by Katherine Vickery

her tantalizing breasts. Round, high, firm, they seemed to invite his touch. He found himself wanting to see the rest of her, to strip away those full skirts and view what lay beneath. The hot ache of desire sparked within him and it was all he could do to fight the urge to reach out for her. Tearing his gaze from her, he sought to control his baser urge.
    “And so all went as planned,” he said. “Not only do I thank you, but Mary Tudor will do so as well.” He sat up quickly, too quickly. Reaching up a hand to his head, he fought off the dizziness which consumed him.
    Heather was beside him in an instant, offering her arms to steady him, assailing him with the beguiling scent of roses which came from her hair. Her hands reached out to touch him, to caress him, and that touch was his undoing.
    “God’s blood. What are you doing to me?” His fingers closed around hers, all reason and caution gone from his mind. “Are you a witch, to so cast a spell upon me?” His eyes seemed to devour her, hypnotize her.
    As she stared into his eyes, Heather’s heart began to hammer at the glitter of desire she read there. She found herself remembering the firm gentleness and pressure of those warm lips against her own. Without any awareness of what she was doing, she leaned toward him, the soft material of her gown tightening across her breasts as she did so, making him aware of their tempting allure.
    With a groan he dropped her hand and reached for the soft swell of her breast, caressing it with gentle, exploring fingers.
    “I’ve wanted to touch you like that for so long. Since first I saw you.”
    Heather shivered with pleasure, remembering another time he had touched her breasts, that time that he did not remember. “And I to have you touch me.”
    They moved together into an embrace as he kissed her, her mouth opening under the pressure of his as the kiss deepened in intensity. The kiss had the taste of ale and was just as intoxicating as she was caught up in the tide of their passion.
    He pulled her with him to the hard bed, ignoring the pain that blazed in his shoulder. For a man once so close to death, desire had given him sudden strength. He was completely ruled by his emotions, as all his resolve, his vow not to touch her, was swept away in the tide of his passion. All thought of Edlyn and his married state was gone from his mind. He only knew that Heather was beside him and that he wanted her as he had never wanted any other woman. She was lovely and tempting and warm. Since that first night in her father’s storehouse he had wanted her.
    He clasped her in his arms, and they lay side by side, he tugging at the hem of her gown and cursing the stiff farthingale, she hurrying to remove it and toss it aside. His muscles strained against the softness of her curves as they continued to drink of each other’s kisses. Heather gave herself up to him, feeling as dizzy as Richard Morgan had only a moment before.
    “Heather. Lovely, lovely Heather,” he breathed. His fingers parted the neck of her gown and he reached inside her bodice to feel the warmth of her, stroking and teasing the peaks of her breasts until she moaned low and whispered his name just as he had whispered hers. She yielded to his hands, those hands that searched out the secrets of her woman’s body.
    Richard Morgan was on fire. Sliding his hand up the smooth velvet of her thigh, muffling her moan of protest with his lips, he reveled in her softness, seeking the petals of her womanhood.
    Heather stiffened slightly, unprepared for the touch of his fingers upon her legs, that part of a woman that must never be seen. Despite her desire, she began to struggle against his questing fingers, looking at him with questioning eyes.
    Richard Morgan stared into those eyes, green eyes now, filled with a vulnerability that caused him shame. Muttering a curse beneath his breath, he pulled away from her, embarrassed at how quickly he had lost all self-control. At the