Page 43 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius

“I confess, I’m at a loss,” I admit, lifting the cummerbund in a helpless motion. “In Rome, we had slaves to help with formal dress.”

Dara’s laugh is low and musical as she steps closer. “Well, tonight you have me.”

Her fingers brush against my waist as she takes the garment from my hands. The touch is deliberate, lingering. I can smell her perfume—something exotic and spicy that pricks something at the edges of my mind.

“First this,” she murmurs, putting the pleated strip of cloth on the table beside us and extracting the cufflinks from the cloth bag that was on the table. She slides her hands around each wrist, then deftly secures the gold link through the two holes in the cuff of the pure white silk shirt. I’m still wearing the heavy laurel leaf ring on my right hand.

“Now this.” She picks up the cummerbund, wrapping the fabric around my middle. Her movements are efficient but unnecessarily intimate, each adjustment bringing her closer.

“Then the bow tie,” she murmurs in my ear, her breath grazing it so closely it must be designed to arouse.

She turns me to face her, reaching up to work on the tie. Her body presses against mine as she concentrates on theintricate knot. The position brings to mind another woman—Diana adjusting my riding posture, her touches professional but charged with genuine affection.

The thought of her sends another spike of pain through my chest. What is she doing now? Has she already packed and left Second Chance with nowhere to go? I hope she decided to stay, but the questions torment me, making me step back from Dara’s attentions.

“There,” Dara says, seemingly untroubled by my retreat. “Perfect.” Her eyes rake over me appreciatively. “You clean up very well, Cassius.”

“Gratias,” I reply automatically, then correct myself and switch to one of the English phrases I’ve learned during my secret study sessions—hours I once spent dreaming of surprising Diana with my progress. “Thank you.”

She moves to a nearby table and pours two glasses of wine.

“The vintage is excellent. I imagine the cost of this bottle is worth… more than the barn and horses at Second Chance.”

My head jerks back in surprise. Even with my memories of patrician wealth, the extravagance of this time staggers me.

“To new beginnings,” she toasts, handing me a glass. Her fingers brush mine again, and this time there’s no mistaking the invitation in her eyes.

The expensive wine is too intense for my taste. Even the best wines of my youth were meant to be watered. Wine this strong was considered unsophisticated… barbaric. I simply nod after my first sip to let her know I appreciate her choice of vintage.

“I hope you enjoy the guest room, but my room has a better view of the city. In case you’d like to… appreciate it later.”

The offer hangs in the air between us. Part of me—the part that remembers being a powerful Roman male used to taking what he wants—responds to her beauty, her confidence, her obvious desire. It would be so easy to lose myself in her, to let physical pleasure drown out the ache in my heart.

But another part of me recoils. Not from Dara herself—she’s gorgeous and knows it—but from what accepting her offer would mean. It would be a step toward becoming that arrogant patrician again, the man who saw others as tools for his pleasure and advancement.

“That’s… very kind,” I manage, neither accepting nor rejecting.

Dara’s smile shows she understands the game being played. “It would give you a great view of… the arch—very famous. The offer stands.” She finishes her wine. “We should go. The limo is waiting.”

In the elevator, she steps close again, adjusting my tie, though I doubt it needs it. “You’ll be the most striking man at the gala. Those shoulders, that strong chin. Everyone will have questions. You’re one of the most famous men on the planet.”

“We’re the only two people in this city who have translators.” I tap my ear. “No one but you will understand me.”

“Isn’t that too bad? I’ll just have to translate for you.” She tosses me a sly smile.

The limousine awaits us in the private garage, its interior as luxurious as any room in Dara’s penthouse. As we glide through the city streets, Dara briefs me on what to expect, brief descriptions of some of the important people we’ll meet, and how to behave. Her hand rests on my thigh as she speaks, warm, promising, and intrusive.

I listen with half an ear, my mind torn between the life of privilege she’s offering and thoughts of a simpler happiness I left behind. Diana’s face floats in my memory—not perfectly beautiful like Dara, but real and warm and true. Full of genuine affection, though I ruined that by my arrogance.

“Ready?” Dara asks as the car slows to a stop. “This will be fun.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Cassius

I stride into the gala like I own it, my patrician heritage flowing through my veins. The opulence barely registers—I’ve seen greater wealth in my father’s villa.

Crystal chandeliers larger than any I’ve seen in this century cast rainbow light across marble floors that would make a Roman emperor envious. By the look of it, the jewelry on one woman’s neck could feed ten legions for a year.

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