“Romans don’t marry for love. We marry to keep the patrician houses strong.” Octavian’s
tone was sharp, telling her he wasn’t happy at all.
“And Maximus will make the Atellus name stronger when father adopts him. Maximus
Caecilius Atellus. Just the sound of it rings with great strength. Our sons will ensure my
father’s name continues, and I shall have Maximus. It’s an excellent arrangement.”
“I’ve known Maximus for a long time. The man has an aversion to marriage.” Octavian
snorted with amusement. “What makes you think you can change his mind.”
“Because I intend to make him fall in love with me.”
Across the room, Maximus laughed at something her father said, and that familiar tug on
her senses increased. His plebeian family hailed from the northern part of the Empire,
and the Gaul influence showed in the dark blond hair he wore short. Although she
couldn’t see his green eyes from here, she knew how striking and unusual they were. He
might not have patrician blood, but he had the air of one. His strong nose and sensual
mouth lent itself to the impression that he was a noble. Venus could not have designed a
man more delicious if she’d tried. Normally, he wore his military uniform when he visited
her father, but tonight he was dressed in the fine robes indicative of the position Emperor
Maxentius had given him in the Senate. She preferred his uniform. It showed off his
strong, sinewy legs and the strength of his arms. Arms that held the promise of all
measure of delights. She wanted to see all of him bared before her.
“If this is an attempt to have me express my feelings in poetry reminiscent of Ovid, I will
do that if necessary,” Octavian said quietly. When she didn’t answer, his voice
sharpened. “Don’t be a fool. He’s not good enough for you, Cassiopeia.”
Slowly turning her head, she studied the anger on Octavian’s face. It was unlike him to
be so quarrelsome with her. Octavian had been the one to introduce Maximus to her
father. Eager to appease her friend, she touched his arm lightly.
“Octavian, how can you say such a thing? Maximus is your friend.”
“Friendship is one thing. Marrying into a patrician household is something completely
different.”
She frowned. Was her childhood friend right? As one of the senior statesmen in the
Senate, the name of Gaius Quinctilia Atellus was associated with fairness and
levelheaded thinking. But would he object to Maximus as a son-in-law? No. He liked her
handsome Roman general very much. If anything, her father would welcome Maximus
into the family with open arms. The only thing needed of her was to convince Maximus to
fall in love with her. She shook her head.
“You disappoint me, Octavian. I never thought you would be in the camp of those who
prefer the patrician class to remain pure. The fact that Maximus is your friend only
makes it worse.”
Without allowing the man to utter a response, she moved away from him. As hostess, she
found it necessary to stop and greet several prominent guests she’d invited at her father’s
request. It seemed to take an interminable amount of time to make her way around the
shallow, water-filled impluvium with its resplendent mosaic to where her general and her
father stood. When she finally reached the two men, she saw Maximus grow rigid with
tension. His physical reaction made her bite back a smile. He was aware of her more
than he cared to admit. “Father,” she murmured a greeting as she kissed his cheek before
she turned to the man she intended to conquer. “General, I’m delighted you could join
us.”
Her hands outstretched, she forced him to take her hands in his. They were large hands,
rough and strong. The hands of a soldier. She wanted to feel their roughness against her
skin. As she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek and then the other, he had no choice but to
lower his head toward her. Her cheek brushing against his, she pressed her mouth
against his ear.
“There isn’t a woman in this room who can take their eyes off you. Including me.”
At her whisper, he pulled back abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he stared down at her.
The vivid green of his gaze studied her for a long moment before he looked at her father.
She glanced over her shoulder to see her father barely restraining his amusement.
“Forgive my daughter, Maximus. I’ve given her free rein for so long, it’s impossible to
control her.”
“Perhaps it’s simply a matter of finding the right hand to gentle her.”
The amused note in Maximus’s voice sent irritation spiraling through her. This wasn’t the
way he was supposed to respond to her. She suppressed her annoyance and forced a
smile to her lips as she summoned Adela to her side with a wave of her hand.
With only a small command, the freedwoman hurried away to find the dancers hired as
the evening’s entertainment. As music filled the room, she looked up at Maximus and
offered him her most beguiling smile. His green eyes darkened, and she quickly turned
her gaze to the erotic dance being performed in front of them. Suddenly, she realized it
might be difficult to make him dance to her tune.
Another senator hailed her father from across the room, and he excused himself, leaving
her alone with Maximus. Tension as finely taut as a spider’s web wove through her as she
watched the dancers. After a long moment, she braved a quick glance up at him. To her
surprise, he was openly studying her, and she could feel the heat of a blush cresting over
her cheeks.
“You blush like a vestal virgin, my lady.” The whisper was almost a caress against her
skin, and the sound of his voice sent the blood pounding through her veins.
“Do I?” she choked out.
“Most certainly,” he said with a soft laugh that made her legs go weak. “It enhances your
beauty.”
“You think I’m beautiful?” Startled, she looked up at him in surprise.
No one, not even her father had ever said she was beautiful. A look of hunger swept
across his face and it sent a thrill whirling through her. Strong fingers bit into her upper
arm as he quietly pulled her away from the festivities, through the peristylium, and into
one of the empty rooms reserved for the family’s use. The scent of the flowers in the large
garden that was the peristylium drifted into the small room as he pulled the privacy
curtain closed behind them. Her heart skipped a beat, and she breathed in Maximus’s
raw male scent as he advanced on her until her back came up against a cool marble
column. She was certain it was her imagination, but she could almost feel his fingers
caressing her throat before they trailed their way down to the valley between her breasts.
The fanciful sensation made her nipples grow hard as unripe cherries.
“You’ve been playing with fire for several weeks now,
mea mellis
,” he growled. “Exactly
what is your game?”
She’d seriously misjudged her attraction for him. He was far more devastating alone. She
swallowed hard and shook her head. “I don’t play games.”
“Then what is it you want from me, Cassiopeia?” The flicker of emotion in his piercing
gaze sent her pulse racing.
“You. I want you for my lover.” Unspoken emotion charged the air, and she knew better
than to elaborate any further.
He jerked upright with a shake of his head. “You’re a senator’s daughter.”
“And this figures into the equation how?” she said in an annoyed tone. She’d expected
him to scoff at a relationship, not to point out their different social stations.
“I’m a simple soldier.”
“Are you saying that in service to the Empire you’ve been injured in some way that
prevents you—”
In a split second, arms solid as oak pulled her into the heat of his body. He felt as good
as she had imagined he would. Hard, sinewy, and all male. Her body ached with need as
his erection beneath his robe pressed into the apex of her thighs. Desire spiraled through
her and she shifted her hips forward, wishing there was nothing between them to prevent
him from sliding into her. His mouth plundered hers, and she sighed as his tongue forced
its way past her lips in a kiss filled with passion. He was hers. She knew that with even
more certainty now. Almost as if he could read her mind, he released her and put several
feet between them. His breathing was ragged as he studied her in the low light.
“You’re playing with fire,
mea dulce
.”
“No.” She shook her head and closed the distance between them. She curled her hand
around his neck then pulled his head down and brushed her lips against his. “I know
what I want. And I want you.”
He kissed her hard before his mouth trailed a hot path over her jaw and down the side of
her neck.
Deus
, the man’s touch was all she’d imagined. She trembled in his arms in
anticipation. The desire building inside her forced her hips forward to brush against his
hard length beneath his tunic. Heat pooled between her legs. She drank in the rough,
male smell of him. If this was what love felt like, what heights would her desire for him
take her to?
The thought sent a shudder through her. It was still possible to lose him. He desired her,
but could she make him love her? What if she failed? She refused to consider the
possibility. She would win. She would have this man’s heart. There was no other option
for her.
His hands skimmed up her arms to tug at the fragile material that was her gown. It gave
way beneath his rough fingers until the bodice fell to reveal a breast. Ever so slowly, his
mouth caressed its way from her shoulder to the taut nipple. He suckled her for a
delicious moment then eased his lips back up to her throat.
“Please, Maximus.”
“There will be no going back,
mea dulce
.”
“I have decided. You have no choice,” she whispered.
She was floating and she realized he was carrying her to one of the couches. By the gods,
he was going to make her his right now. Her heart tightened with love and joy. Now he
might feel only desire, but love could not be far behind. The soft pillows of the couch
pressed against her back. With a gentleness that was at odds with his soldier’s hands, he
pulled her gown up to her hips.
Heat spread its way across her thigh as his fingers undid the cloth concealing her core.
A guttural noise rolled out of him as he exposed her to his eyes. His throat bobbed
violently as he swallowed. Against her skin, she felt his fingers tremble. Amazement
swept through her as her gaze met his. There was something else besides passion
glowing there. It reassured her that she’d made the right decision to force his hand. His
touch parted her, and she arched up against his fingers …
ROME, ITALY
PRESENT DAY
The buzzer on the alarm clock shattered the dream, and Phaedra groaned with
disappointment as she slapped the snooze button to eliminate the annoying sound. She desperately wanted to go back to sleep. It had been such a deliciously wicked dream. The only problem was her body ached for the man in her dreams. Lysander.
Damn, it had been more than a year since he’d brutally rejected her that night in the Order’s Genova medical center. Why was the man still haunting her dreams? She winced. She knew why. Just because he’d crushed her heart, it hadn’t stopped her from loving him. She was as big a fool as they came. Why couldn’t she get the man out of her heart
and
her head? The thought tugged a groan out of her. And these dreams. They made no sense at all. Why would she be dreaming about the first Sicari Lord and his wife, Cassiopeia?
For that matter, why did Maximus look like Lysander
before
the Praetorians tortured him? She rubbed sleep out of one eye with the heel of her palm. Whatever the dream was trying to tell her—and dreams always meant something—all she wanted was the man she’d fallen in love with more than a year ago. A sigh of resignation whispered out of her. Whatever those Praetorian
bastardi
had done to him, they’d destroyed that man. The man in that hospital bed hadn’t been the same man who’d made love to her.
Her thoughts drifted back to that horrible morning. Pain forced her eyes closed. Hearing those cruel words from him had been the most humiliating moment of her life. But worse was the pain that had come with it. She’d left the hospital numbed to anything but her desire to strike back. To make him hurt as bad as he’d hurt her.
And she’d worked hard to do that from the moment he came back to Chicago. Every chance she had, she flung her barbs at him as if they were darts. But he never acted as if any of her sharp jabs had hit their mark. That is until the night of Julian’s R
ogalis
, his memorial service. The moment she’d blamed Lysander for her friend’s death she’d wanted to take the words back. Her words had finally found their mark, and the anguish on Lysander’s face had twisted her insides in a way that said she had gone too far. Out in the small sitting room, the sound of the apartment door opening and closing with a loud bang echoed into the bedroom.
“Phae, you awake?”
She groaned. Cleo. Didn’t the woman ever sleep? Her friend had picked her up at the Order’s private hangar at Rome’s International Airport when she’d arrived late last night, and now she was up before her. She adjusted the spaghetti strap of her camisole nightshirt and slid out of bed. Her friend wasn’t about to let her sleep any longer. Not that she’d be able to. She was going to be on tenterhooks until she talked to Lysander and asked him why he’d summoned her to Rome. Even more importantly, she was going to do something she
never
did. Apologize.