Felicity knew what Mr. Logan was doing was wicked, but she didn't care. She should have pushed him away and slapped his face, as any properly brought-up young lady would have. She should have at least struggled free as she had before. Instead her hands were clutching at his shirt as if she would never let him go. In truth, she didn't think she ever wanted to.

She did try to push his tongue out of her mouth with her own, but she failed miserably. Instead of ending the peculiar invasion, she only encouraged it. As her tongue tangled with his in a moist duel, he groaned, pulling her closer still, until her breasts flattened against his chest and she could feel his heart pounding against her own. Someone made a funny sound, almost like a moan, but she could not have said which one of them it was.

His mouth left hers then, allowing her to breathe just in time. One more second of his passionate assault and she would have fainted dead away, but before she could fully form the thought, she was distracted by another assault. Tender lips trailed across her cheek to caress the delicate shell of her ear, exploring curves and hollows and sending delicious shivers coursing down the length of her body. Long fingers tangled in her hair, urging her head back to allow him access to the silken length of her throat, access she granted willingly. This time she knew the moan came from her own throat as she voiced her disappointment that the modest neckline of her dress barred him from other parts of her that ached for his touch.

Strong hands clutched at her hips, molding her to him, lifting her on tiptoe into the cradle of his thighs. He breathed her name again, calling her "Lissy," the name that those who loved her most always called her. Something inside of her began to melt.

The next thing she knew, the bearskin rug was against her back and he was looming over her. His hand was on her breast, where she knew it shouldn't be, but when she tried to push it away, he kissed her, drowning all her protests in a tide of new sensation. This time, when his mouth left hers, her body was pliant and yielding. She was only slightly shocked when his lips encountered no cloth barriers as they moved down the column of her throat. Cool air touched her chest, and she vaguely realized that he had unbuttoned her bodice. But when his breath warmed her, she no longer minded.

One strong arm cradled her while the other caressed. His large hand cupped first one tiny breast and then the other, slipping beneath the sheer fabric of her chemise to gently coax them. Instinctively, she arched into his touch, even while some distant voice of reason sounded a warning. This was wrong, even more wrong than his strange kisses had been. Feebly, with the last ounce of her free will, she pushed his hand away. He did not resist, but before she could register her victory, his mouth replaced his hand, capturing one pouting nipple in moist warmth.

Felicity gasped as the twinge started by his lips raced downward and spasmed between her legs. The melting that had begun earlier finished now, seeping out to dew the insides of her thighs. "No," she whispered, even as she buried her fingers in his silver hair to hold him to her.

The word was no more than a puff of sound, as quickly forgotten as uttered. She strained against his mouth, offering herself more fully to him. He suckled gently, teasing and tormenting first one pink tip and then the other until she was writhing with want.

She could no longer hear that warning voice. The blood pounding in her ears had drowned it out. The only sounds now were his rasping breath scorching against her tingling flesh and her own tiny cries of need. When his hand found her knee underneath the tangle of her skirts, she did not think it odd for him to be touching her like that. Instead she moved under his hand, inviting his caress and encouraging his further invasion.

Josh ran his hand up her thigh, touching at last the slender curves he had remembered so many times. He had only intended to kiss her a few times, but somehow a few kisses were simply not enough. The fragrance of her skin was like an opiate, singing in his blood, and like a true addict, he craved more. Much more. She fairly purred as he stroked her, snapping his tenuous hold on reason. His unfulfilled need became a searing agony, a descent into the dark pit of loneliness and despair. Only she could save him. He had to have her. He had to have her completely.

Felicity moaned a protest when he withdrew, but then he was holding her in a new way, lifting her, the way he had that very first day, except this time his mouth was on hers. She clung to him shamelessly. Then he was laying her down again, on something soft and cool. Her eyes flew open and she caught a glimpse of yellow curtains. They were in her bedroom. On her bed!

This was wrong, so very wrong, and she pulled her mouth from his. "No, don't," she said frantically.

But his hand was on her breast, stroking so gently. "I won't hurt you, Lissy," he said.

He kissed her again, and she believed him. The kisses went on and on, drugging her, robbing her of reason and will until she once again lay pliant in his arms, lost in a world of sensation as his lips explored her body. She gasped when he trailed his fingers over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh to cup her center through the barrier of her pantalettes. She tensed at this most intimate intrusion, but she had no will to stop him.

When his fingers found the fastening of her drawers and then slipped inside to stroke the quivering skin beneath, her breath caught on a strangled sob. When his fingers slipped lower to tangle in the nest of curls that cloaked her womanhood, she stiffened in protest. He shouldn't be touching her there. No one should ever touch her there. It was wrong, wrong, wrong. Her body didn't seem to know that, though, and even as her mind screamed objections, her hips lifted to his touch. She cried out in surprise when he found her most sensitive spot. "Please, don't," she begged, but he paid her no mind, probably because her traitorous hands were clutching at him much too eagerly.

As his fingers stroked, Felicity's world faded, narrowing down until even he disappeared and only she existed in a place warm and wonderful. Strange colors danced behind her eyelids as the melting in her loins spread living flame throughout her entire body. The flame grew hotter and then hotter still, stoked by the man she could no longer see but whose hands she mindlessly obeyed.

She took his weight willingly, clutching him to her. The pain was swift, but even more swiftly forgotten. She was going to die, she knew she was. She was going to burst into flames and die, but even if they were the fires of hell, she could no longer resist them. With a strangled cry, she surrendered herself, falling headlong into the conflagration.

As one emerging from a dream, Felicity returned slowly to the real world. Spasms still shook her, but they were fainter now, and not the earthquakes they had been. At last they died away, leaving her weak and boneless. The weight that was crushing her shifted and someone groaned, startling her out of her fog.

When her eyes flew open, she saw that she was lying on the bed in the yellow room. Her bed. Summoning all her courage, she turned her head slightly to the right and found him lying beside her. He, too, looked as if he had experienced a cataclysm. His body trembled slightly, and he lay with one arm thrown across his eyes. His breath came in gasps.

Suddenly she realized her state of undress, the shameful way she was lying, completely exposed. The horror of what she had done, of what she had let him do, closed in around her, and she cringed away from him. A small sound of anguish escaped her as she turned from him and hastily, with fingers that shook in the aftermath of passion, jerked her skirt down and began to refasten her bodice.