Page 135 of Bride of Fire
He buried his face in her hair.
She seized his cotun in her fists.
When she turned her face up to his, her eyes burned with a fire that defied the drenching downpour. She lowered her gaze to his mouth and, without uttering a word, demanded he quench her thirst.
It was wrong.
He knew it was wrong.
He was married.
His loyalty belonged to another.
And yet, when Jenefer looked at him like that—as if there were no other man in the world—he could no more resist her than he could resist breathing.
With a groan of defeat, he slanted his mouth over hers, feasting on her sweet and welcoming lips.
She tasted like the storm. Wild and wet. Wave after wave of passion washed over him. And he never wanted the deluge to end.
Jenefer felt like she was drowning in Morgan’s embrace. And yet she would willingly die in his arms, just to feel the desire flowing from his lips to hers.
She clutched at his clothing, willing him to come closer, to mold his body against hers, to delve deeper into her mouth with his delicious tongue.
They kissed as if they battled, straining against each other, grunting with effort, attacking, retreating, and attacking again.
Despite the storm raging within and around them, drenching their clothing and soaking their skin, a molten heat built at her very core. Warmth sparked in her heart. Smoldered through her veins. Enflamed her senses and brought her body roaring to life.
Blind and deaf, aware of only each other, they might have easily become lost in the maelstrom of their emotions.
But in the next instant, a flash lit up the sky, and a crack of thunder split them apart.
His eyes smoldered into hers as his chest heaved with fervor.
Breathless, she raised trembling fingers to her lips.
He glanced up at the sinister clouds and then reached out to clasp her by the waist, lifting her over the low wattle fence. He took her hand and loped toward the shelter of the stables, pulling her along with him.
The stables were abandoned except for two cart horses. The stable lads had likely gone into the keep, out of the storm.
In one of the empty, hay-sweet stalls, Morgan hauled her into his arms, swooping down on her mouth again. His fingers rasped down her cheek and along her throat. His knuckles collected the droplets of rain on her bosom. With a lusty growl, he slipped her kirtle off her shoulder.
“God, I want ye, Jenefer,” he breathed between kisses.
“I want you as well,” she said, gasping.
She threaded her fingers through his wet locks, cocking his head to twist her frantic lips across his. Her body burned with craving. Her soul ached for him.
But even as they engaged in blissful sensual combat, Jenefer warred with her conscience. Like a loyal guard, her damned honor stepped in to raise a shield against what she wanted most.
In her heart of hearts, she knew the truth. Nothing good could come of this. No matter how much she cared for Morgan, no matter how deeply he touched her, the yearning she felt was bittersweet.
She dreamed of an impossible conquest. Longed for something she could never have. Theirs was a cursed love, star-crossed and hopeless.
As long as Lady Alicia lived, Morgan belonged to her. Nothing on heaven or earth could change that.
Neither she nor Morgan were foolish enough to sacrifice their integrity, their fealty, or their honor for a moment’s pleasure.
Still, resisting the Highlander was harder than defying the ocean’s current. It was so much easier to float along on the thrilling wave of desire surrounding her.
