The Passion and the Flower — Barbara Cartland

The Prince Ivan gazed down at Lokita's upturned face, then gently bent his head as his lips found hers.

It was as if he asked her to to allow her soul to become his.

Lokita had never experienced such feeling, such power. It was so compelling, so glorious, so brilliant--it grew in them both until it was like the blazing heat of the sun, and they stood in the center of it.

"This is love," thought Lokita. She wanted to cry the words out loud, to dance at the glory and rapture of them.

But the Prince held her close, captive against him, kissing her with the wild intensity of a man who has come back to life from the dead...