Page 11 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius

“It’s progress,” she insists, her hand brushing my arm. The brief contact sends a jolt through me.

We continue walking, her occasional pauses to gather flowers breaking the silence. The scents and textures tease at fragments of memory, but nothing solid emerges.

Finally, she stops to pick a vibrant red flower. “Wild rose,” she says, straightening.

As she steps toward me, her foot catches on the uneven ground. Instinctively, I reach out, steadying her with one arm as mybalance wavers. We end up tangled together, my hand on her waist, hers clutching my shirt.

The world seems to narrow to this moment, to the warmth of her body against mine and the soft flush spreading across her cheeks. Her breath mingles with mine, carrying the scent of mint and sunshine. I’m acutely aware of every point where our bodies connect—my arm around her waist, her hand on my chest, the warmth of her touch. Her skin is flushed, a delicate pink that spreads from her cheeks down her neck, disappearing beneath her collar. I wonder how far that blush extends.

The flower she’d picked lies forgotten at our feet, its sweet fragrance mixing with the clean scent of her skin. Her eyes, a mesmerizing blend of green and gold, are wide as they meet mine. For a moment, I swear I see something there—a flash of heat, a mirror of the desire coursing through my own veins.

Her fingers curl slightly against my chest, bunching the fabric of my shirt. The slight movement shoots jolts of lightning through me. My hand at her waist seems to move of its own accord, drawing her infinitesimally closer. She doesn’t pull away. Instead, her lips part, and the sight of her tongue darting out to wet them nearly undoes me.

But surely I’m imagining things. This beautiful, capable woman couldn’t possibly be attracted to her pupil, a man who can barely walk the length of this pasture without help. The heat in her gaze must be a trick of the sunlight. The way she leans into me is merely for balance. Nothing more.

Yet her pulse flutters at the base of her throat, matching the rapid beating of my heart. When she shifts slightly, trying to regain her footing, her hip brushes against mine in a way that makes my breath catch. The air between us feels charged, heavy with unspoken possibilities.

I could lower my head just slightly, close the small distance between us. Her lips look impossibly soft, and part of me is desperate to discover if they feel as silken as they appear. But before I can act on the reckless impulse, Buddy’s loud snort shatters the moment.

We spring apart as if burned, the spell shattered.

“Sorry,” I mutter, heat rising to my face. “Still working on the whole balance thing.”

Diana laughs, the sound a touch too high-pitched to be entirely natural. “No harm done. Let’s, um… get back.”

She bends to retrieve the rose, her hand trembling slightly as she offers it to me. “Here. Maybe this one will bring something back.”

I take it, careful not to let our fingers brush. The scent is rich and sweet, stirring emotions that hover just out of reach.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, though my gaze is on her rather than the flower.

Her breath hitches, but she recovers quickly, her professional mask sliding back into place as she covers her mouth with her hand. “We should head back before we overdo it.”

As we turn toward the barn, a quiet tension lingers between us, heavy with unspoken words.

Chapter Nine

Cassius

The memory replays in my mind for what must be the hundredth time since yesterday. A naked woman, her back arched invitingly, her voice husky with desire as she commands me in Latin. “Futue me, Cassius.” Fuck me.

I’ve examined every detail, trying to squeeze more information from this tantalizingly brief glimpse into my past. Was she my wife? A lover? A prostitute? The setting suggests wealth—fine linens and ornate furniture glimpsed at the filmy edges of the memory. Was I a prostitute? A free man? If so, how did I fall into slavery?

Questions without answers. The harder I search, the less I see. It’s maddening.

Sighing, I push myself up from my bunk. My head throbs dully. A constant companion these days. The barracks are quiet; most of the others are already at breakfast. I should join them, but the thought of food doesn’t interest me.

Instead, I walk toward the corral. It’s not time for my session with Diana, but some part of me hopes to catch a glimpse of her. Pathetic, really. I’m acting like a lovesick boy, not a grown man—let alone a gladiator, if that’s what I was.

The sound of hoofbeats draws me closer. Diana sits astride Buddy, her body moving in perfect harmony with the horse as they weave between bright blue barrels. Her face is flushed with exertion, her hair flying wild behind her. But it’s her expression that catches my breath—pure, unbridled joy.

This is… glorious watching Diana and Buddy move as one. When she trills to the horse, the sound shoots straight through me, settling low in my belly. The morning sun catches in her hair, turning it to molten gold, and my fingers itch to discover if it’s as soft as it looks.

A bead of sweat trails down her neck, disappearing beneath her collar, and I follow its path with my eyes, imagining how her skin would taste there, where her pulse beats at her throat. The joy in her expression, the flush of exertion on her cheeks, the way her body moves with such natural grace—it’s intoxicating. More potent than any wine I can remember tasting.

But it’s more than mere physical attraction. The competence in her movements speaks to something deeper, more primal. This is a woman who knows her own strength, who commandsrespect not through force but through understanding. When she praises the horse, her voice warm and encouraging, I imagine that same tone directed at me, and my whole body responds.

I should look away. Should focus on something—anything—else. These feelings, this hunger, it can only lead to complications. She’s my teacher, my guide in this strange new world. I have nothing to offer her but confusion and broken memories.

---