Serena closed her eyes and sighed at the feel of raw male arousal, sagging against the muscular column of his body. It had been a long, long time since she’d taken a lover, and never one as beautiful or unknowable as this.

He slid a second hand around her waist, his fingers kneading and massaging her uncorsetted body as he delved more deeply into her mouth, his rhythmic strokes making her hips buck against his. It would be so easy to simply give in to the long-repressed sensations he was drawing from her body without effort. She leaned in closer, her own hand snaking around his corded, narrow waist to rest at the top of his deliciously hard buttocks.

This is a mistake, Serena. You will not be able to stay here after this. The voice was shrill and annoying, and Serena ignored it.

He walked her slowly toward the wall, rubbing the stiff length of his erection against her as he pushed, until her shoulders hit the wall, but he kept coming.

Stroke.

Stroke.

Stroke.

His stiff length drew an answering pulse from her sex and she imagined his strong, insistent body entering hers, plunging into her with all the strength she knew he possessed. She could feel the struggle of will and desire that raged inside him. The slightest sign from her and he would take her right here, against the wall.

I can have him right now. Her inner muscles clenched and tightened and she pushed back against him the next time he thrust, her body already preparing to welcome his, her thighs slick with desire.

He made a low growling sound and bit her lower lip, sucking it into his mouth, pulling her so hard the pain was exquisite. His knee nudged between her thighs and she opened to him.

You will need to leave this place. It will be a disaster, for you, Serena, but especially for Oliver.

Her son’s face—wearing a tragic expression—rose up in her mind and her eyes flew open; never had her ardor been extinguished so quickly.

She laid her hands on his upper arms, that part of her mind that wanted him thrilling at the feel of hard, sculpted body. But her son’s face remained with her.

She pulled back and his lips left hers immediately. When she looked up, she saw he was staring at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his heart strong, steady, and fast against her hard nipples and sensitive breasts.

“Mr. Lockheart?” She sounded just as he had after his coughing fit.

He dropped his arms to his sides and stepped back, putting empty space between their bodies.

His eyes never wavered from hers. “I apologize, Mrs. Lombard.”

She shook her head, unable to come up with anything coherent to say.

He turned away and opened the door, waiting until she’d gone through. The silent journey to the family quarters took a hundred years.