Page 18 of Thawed Gladiator: Victor

“Fight for money and pride.” He meets my eyes with that unnervingly direct gaze. “Like gladiators, but without the honor of the arena.”

Sometimes I forget just how much he understands, how quickly he absorbs everything around him. “We’ll need to be careful. Show enough skill to satisfy Tony, but not enough to—”

“To know what I’m truly capable of?” That ghost of a smile touches his lips. “I have some experience hiding my true capabilities,Domina.”

The title sends its familiar shiver down my spine, but instead of the usual magic of reminding me of our unspoken attraction, it holds even more power. Making pictures flash through my mind of his bronzed skin under my fingertips, his tongue in my mouth, his tender grip plucking my nipples. The string between us is so taut it’s threatening to break.

“Get some rest,” I say, needing distance from his too-perceptive gaze. “Tomorrow will be… challenging.”

Watching him climb the stairs, I’m struck by a sudden question. “Victor,” I call, making him pause. “Where you come from… what makes a great fighter?”

He turns, something lighting in his eyes beyond mere physical interest. “Not what the Romans believed,” he says thoughtfully. “They valued spectacle and blood. But my father was from Greece. He taught that true victory comes from mastery of the self, not destruction of others.”

“So, you didn’t kill in the arena?”

The slight shake of his head confirms it. “A choice that cost me much. But as my father said, ‘Some prices are worth paying to keep one’s soul intact.’” The moment stretches between us. This unexpected glimpse into his core values is more intimate than any physical touch.

Watching him climb the stairs to our apartment, I try not to think about all the ways this could go wrong. Rico’s fighters are brutal—underground specialists who don’t care about rules or safety. One wrong move could expose Victor’s unusual fighting style or raise questions about his training. If Tony discovers Victor’s true origins, he’d reach out to big pharma in a heartbeat.

And now we have to navigate a shopping trip with Marco watching our every move. At least it gets us out of the gym, gives Victor a chance to see more of this world he’s been thrown into.

Taking a deep breath, I head upstairs. In three days, we’ll face Rico’s fighters. But first, we have to get through tomorrow’s trip without raising suspicions. Every moment in public is a risk—one wrong word or ancient gesture could unravel everything. Yet part of me can’t help looking forward to seeing Victor’s face when he experiences the modern world in daylight for the first time.

Chapter Fourteen

Maya

Marco arrives at ten, then idles his black SUV in the alley behind my gym. His expression says he’d rather be anywhere else than babysitting a shopping trip.

“One hour,” he reminds me, adjusting his mirror to keep an eye on Victor in the backseat. “Boss wants you at Rexon’s Department Store on Charleston. Nowhere else.”

The drive gives me my first chance to watch Victor’s reactions to the twenty-first century. His face remains carefully neutral, but his eyes miss nothing—darting from traffic signals to electronic billboards to the endless stream of cars.

We’re nowhere near downtown Vegas, but when we pass a digital mobile billboard with a scantily clad showgirl giving a sexy hip thrust, the poor gladiator’s eyes almost bug out of his face. To his credit, he says nothing.

“Almost there.” The translation device renders my words into Latin, and I wonder what he makes of all this. From what little I know of ancient Rome, even their busiest streets would seem quiet compared to morning traffic on Charleston.

Rexons’ automatic doors make him pause for just a fraction of a second—so brief anyone else would miss it. But I’ve spent weeks watching him, learning to read the tiny tells beneath his warrior’s composure.

“This way.” I guide him toward men’s athletic wear even as he’s still looking over his shoulder at the modern marvel of magically sliding doors. Marco trails at a distance, managing to be both professional and menacing. “You need proper training gear.”

Victor moves through the racks, his eyes widening at the rows of pre-made clothing. His eyebrows almost shoot into his hairline when I hand him a moisture-wicking shirt.

“This material,” he murmurs so that only I can hear him, “it’s like nothing I’ve known.” The wonder in his voice reminds me of how even the most mundane items hold magic to him. His warrior’s hands—capable of such violence—display remarkable gentleness as he selects each item, treating modern athletic wear with the reverence others might reserve for fine silk.

“These will be better for training,” I explain, selecting compression gear and performance wear in his size. “More comfortable than what you’ve been using.”

He accepts each item with that grave courtesy that makes my heart ache. Even shopping, he maintains the perfect posture of a trained fighter. But there’s something else in his bearing too—an intelligence that takes in every detail, analyzing and adapting.

“You need to try them on. Make sure everything… fits properly.” My voice catches slightly as I picture him naked behind the nearby louvered door.

He reaches to his waistband and pulls down his sweats as he bends forward. The position would moon anyone behind him. Luckily, Marco is staring at a pretty young shopper, and the only person to catch the show is me. Dear god, the man’s body is perfection. I’m only human. I stare for a moment longer than is necessary.

“I forgot that you told me you used to fight nude in front of thousands. Here, it’s not… acceptable. You can use the try-on room.” I point to the dressing room as he quickly pulls the sweats back up.

Marco positions himself by the main aisle, close enough to watch but far enough to give the illusion of privacy. As I hand Victor the pile of clothes, I try not to think about him changing just a few feet away. I no longer need to use my imagination for most of his anatomy as I picture him pulling off his clothes. I was just treated to the most perfect, masculine backside that’s roamed the Earth since the birth of Christ.

When he emerges in proper workout gear, my carefully professional demeanor slips even further. The compression shirt shows every sculpted muscle, while the shorts reveal powerful legs marked with a few old scars. The one part of his anatomy I haven’t been treated to is now outlined in damn near perfect detail under the shorts. From the looks of things, he’s packing a monster under there.

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