Page 32 of Thawed Gladiator: Varro

“If you are certain.” With a grunt, Varro sets me down, still not taking his eyes off the machine as though he expects it to attack at any moment. After a minute, he says, “You must think I’m a fool.”

He looks so adorably abashed, his cheeks red, brow lowered. I cup his face with both hands and say, “I think you are very sweet to protect me from the terrible machine. Don’t worry. I’ve got this under control.”

Soon, we take off in Jenny, which fills my companion with wild-eyed wonder.

“What propels it?” he asks from the passenger seat, gazing at the engine’s hood as though if he only had x-ray vision he could figure out the mechanics of what makes it work.

“Did you understand how they made glass? Or were you just happy to drink out of a goblet?”

His answer is a disapproving grunt.

“I have no idea how machines work, or how the heater in our tent functions. Or how my phone can store all the music and knowledge of the world in such a tiny box. I certainly know how to turn them on, though.”

About a minute into our ride, my favorite gladiator bitches that we’re not going fast enough. Really?

“This isn’t as fast as an old horse,” he complains. “I would have thought we could go twice this fast.”

I hate to tell him we’re going six miles an hour and that any faster on this terrain would risk a flip and a crash. If we ever get offthis forsaken island, I’ll drive him at seventy miles an hour just to watch his handsome head explode. Twice as fast, my ass.

We stop on our journey whenever we see tall grasses poking out of the snow. As a woman who doesn’t enjoy the gym and who, until I left on this expedition, spent most of my free time sitting at a desk reading ancient Latin texts, I’m in no shape to keep up with a two-thousand-year-old gladiator. I’m lucky he’s not only strong and full of energy, but he’s pretty damn smart.

He uses Invictus to slash tall grasses, then separates the grains from the stalks with the flat of the shovel we brought. He requires very little of me, so I mostly sit on the passenger seat and watch, occasionally bringing him a new bottle of water. Otherwise, I’m free to watch as he discards his borrowed Henley and works up a sweat. I may have said no to more kisses last night, but a girl can look, can’t she?

I lean back on the UTV’s bench seat, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face as I watch Varro work. He’s a machine, threshing the tall grasses with an almost hypnotic rhythm. The muscles in his back ripple with each swing of the sword, a testament to the years of training he endured as a gladiator.

“You’re making it look too easy,” I call out, a teasing lilt in my voice. “Sure you don’t need a break?”

Varro glances over his shoulder, a playful smirk on his lips. “This? This is nothing compared to training in theludus.”

I can’t help but admire his form, the way his body moves with a fluid grace that belies his strength. It’s like watching a dance. Mostly, I try to ignore the scars that mar his skin. There are crisscrossing lines on his back that show evidence of lashings. The scars on his front appear to be punctures from spears and slashes from swords.

Looking at them hurts my own flesh as I imagine the horror he must have gone through. It makes me want to trace the evidence of his pain with my fingertips… and my tongue.

“So, you barely consider this as work? Don’t let me stop you.” I cross my legs and settle in for the show. “I’m just enjoying the view.”

Varro chuckles, a deep, rich sound that makes me think of how warm his embrace was last night, how arousing it was with our bodies notched together so closely I could feel his cock pulse against me.

“Careful, Laura. Keep looking at me like that, and we might have a repeat of last night.”

His words spark heat to my cheeks, which arcs to my clit at the memory of our kiss—the way his lips felt against mine, the taste of him on my tongue. I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure.

“I thought we agreed to take things slow,” I remind him, but there’s no real conviction in my voice.

Varro shrugs, the motion causing his muscles to flex in a way that makes my mouth dry. “As you wish. But just so you know, I’m not opposed to… dancing with you again.”

I laugh, shaking my head at his boldness. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

He flashes me a grin, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “So I’ve been told, although back in Rome, I was more likely to be told I was a worthless wretch, no more than a beast in my master’s stable.”

Trying not to let Varro see my wince, I turn my head and pretend to scratch my lip, trying not to let him see the pain spike across my expression. I’m an expert on ancient Roman customs and culture. It doesn’t make me approve of the sadistic way the masters treated their slaves.

As he returns to his work, I let my mind wander to more pleasant things. I imagine what it would be like to explore this thing between us, to give in to the desire simmering just beneath the surface. But I know we can’t rush it,not with so much at stake.

We need to focus on survival first, on building a life here on this island. The rest… well, the rest can wait.

But as I watch Varro, his skin glistening with sweat, his muscles straining with each swing of the sword, I can’t help but wonder how long I’ll be able to resist the temptation.

Because every moment spent with him, every shared laugh and heated glance, only serves to deepen the connection between us, to stoke the flames of a fire that has already ignited and threatens to flare even hotter.

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