Page 56 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius

“Almost.” Cassius adjusts the boy’s grip with careful hands. “Remember, horses respond to energy more than force. Think of it as a conversation, not a command.”

The wisdom in his words catches me off guard. When did he become so insightful? I find myself studying him—the way his strong hands move with such deliberate grace, how his voice has softened over the months, losing that sharp edge of superiority.

A gust of wind rattles the windows, drawing my attention to the darkening sky. We’ll need to bring in the horses from the back pasture soon. The forecast calls for heavy snow tonight, and already the flakes are falling faster, thicker.

“That’s enough for today,” I call out, rising from my desk. “The weather’s turning.”

Cassius nods, helping the teens put away the equipment. I watch how naturally they interact with him now, how they seek his approval and value his praise. He’s become more than just an instructor—he’s a role model, a mentor.

After the teens leave, we work in companionable silence, preparing to fetch the horses. Our professional relationship has evolved into something… comfortable. Too comfortable, perhaps. I find myself stealing glances at him when I should be focusing on tasks, noticing things I’ve tried hard to ignore—the strong line of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the fluid grace of his movements.

“Ready?” he asks, catching me staring.

I nod, grateful that the cold air will explain my flushed cheeks. We trudge through the deepening snow toward the back pasture, our breaths creating white clouds in the frigid air. The horses are huddled together near the treeline, their coats already dusted with white, the air steaming as the cool flakes hit their warm skin.

“I’ll take the far side,” Cassius offers, moving to circle the small herd.

Working together, we guide the horses toward the barn. The snow is falling harder now, reducing visibility. Through the white haze, I watch Cassius moving with sure steps, speaking softly to the horses in Latin. The words themselves aremeaningless to me because they’re so soft my translator doesn’t pick them up, but their gentle, affectionate tone carries clearly through the storm.

A particularly strong gust of wind sends snow swirling between us. One of the new horses, still skittish around her new owners, rears up in alarm. Without thinking, I step back, my boot slipping on loose rocks.

Cassius is there instantly, his arm catching me before I fall. The heat of his body against mine is shocking after the cold air. I grab his shoulders to steady myself, and suddenly we’re pressed together, his face mere inches from mine.

Time seems to stop as our gazes lock. Snowflakes settle on his blond lashes, and I’m struck by the intensity in his green eyes—concern, yes, but something else, too. Something that makes my heart race and my breath catch.

“Diana,” he whispers, and the way he says my name makes a vivid image of him moving on top of me flash through my mind.

I should step back. Should maintain those professional boundaries I’ve worked so hard to establish. Instead, my fingers curl into the fabric of his coat, drawing him closer.

His free hand comes up to brush snow from my cheek, the touch achingly gentle. I lean into his palm before I can stop myself, watching as his pupils dilate in response. The air between us feels charged, electric.

It’s as though a switch has been flipped. All the sexual feelings I’ve tried to tamp down since the moment I told him I didn’t want to be with him anymore surge to the forefront with the force of a runaway train.

My nipples prick with need as my breath stutters in my chest. Want and hunger and desperate desire circle inside me even as a loud siren blares in the back of my mind.

We’re so close now I can feel his breath on my lips. The horses, the storm, the whole world seems to fade away until there’s nothing but this moment, this man, this overwhelming need to close the distance between us.

If I move just an inch closer, it will be all the invitation he needs to know I want the kiss that’s waiting on his lips.

Since I’m the one who put up these ridiculous boundaries, he’s waiting for me to take them down, to invite him in, to say yes.

A loud whinny breaks the spell. We spring apart as one of the horses stamps impatiently, reminding us of our task. The moment shatters like ice.

“We should…” Cassius gestures toward the barn, his voice husky.

“Yes,” I manage, though every fiber of my being screams to pull him back, to kiss him, to set wheels into motion that might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

We complete our task in charged silence, leading the horses to their stalls. My skin tingles everywhere he brushes against mein the close quarters of the barn. Each accidental touch feels deliberate, meaningful.

As we finish wiping down the wet horses and securing the last stall, Cassius turns to me. “Diana, I—”

“Don’t,” I interrupt softly. “Not yet.”

His eyes narrow as he studies my face for a long moment, then nods. But there’s hope in his eyes now, reflecting the warmth building in my chest. The walls I’ve built between us are thawing, melting by increments.

We part ways at the barn door, but something has shifted. Like the first warmth after a long winter, like the first green shoot breaking through frozen ground, something new is growing between us.

And for the first time in months, I’m not afraid to let it bloom.

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