Women had so few choices.
Her chamber door swung wide and Davisha entered first. Even her bowed head could not disguise a sly smile. She thought Titus pleasing.
He entered a few paces behind her, the same sober expression etched on his face. Her countenance fell. What did he do every day to leave him this guarded and miserable?
“Leave us,” Sariah murmured as her gaze met his. A grin graced, then deserted his hard line of a mouth as Davisha locked them in the room together.
Sariah stood and strode toward him, hoping the confidence she displayed would leak into her soul. He’d bathed, the clean scent of his body preceding him. His skin glistened with oil.
Had he made effort?
She laid a hand on his chest and walked slowly around him, taking an inventory of his attributes. Firm muscles, long limbs, tanned skin. He had many physical traits to admire, the most surprising of them grey eyes flecked with blue.
As she came to a stop before him, she paused and looked for something in his gaze to tell her who he really was. He did not avoid her, or look away, seeming to rather enjoy her attention.
He took a breath, as if about to speak, and she pressed her finger against his lips to silence him. His eyes sparked, and he gently kissed her fingertip.
Sariah exhaled, his gesture unexpected. A delicious shiver graced her body. What would he require of her tonight?
He took her behind each elbow and pulled her against him. Leaning close, he whispered, “Do you have anything for me?”
“Yes,” she answered, reminded of her promise to him. “They watch us from the other side of the wall.”
A SUBTLE TILT OF HER head told Titus all he needed to know. He pursed his lips, muffling the curses rising in his throat. He should have expected as much and must now consider this meeting a performance.
His mind battled for control of his body, no small task.
Saria’s fragrance wound around him like a serpent, holding him close. His first glimpse of her tonight had been like looking at the sun. He could not take in all of her beauty at once.
And now the pairing spoiled as he considered how he should proceed with watchful eyes upon them. He met Saria’s gaze, which wavered with fear and knew she was to give him whatever he desired, in whatever fashion he desired those things.
Her handlers expected him to be a brute.
She wet her lower lip with the tip of her tongue and his blood rose instantly. What he wanted was to give her unbridled pleasure, to hear her moan as he touched her, to show her their coupling did not have to be painful. Could he give her such a gift?
They would expect him to be aggressive, even violent, so far as the Roman reputation presented itself. Perhaps he needed to be seen as having been captured by her rather than mastering her. They would sense she controlled him, which is what they truly desired.
His grip tightened on her arms and he leaned into the crook of her neck to run his tongue along her flesh. She tasted like honeyed wine.
She fisted his tunic in her hands as he proceeded to nibble on her ear, finally drawing back to say, “How have you become more beautiful still?”
A smile emerged from her worried expression. “You flatter me with well-chosen words.”
“Are deeds more acceptable?” he asked, letting her loose. As she moved across the room, toward the expansive bed, he wondered at her bearing. She could not be older than twenty anni.
In his world, one would assume her noble born, simply by the way she carried herself.
She lowered herself to the edge of the bed and held out her hand. His feet moved forward of their own accord. His mind followed, knowing once they coupled, they might be left in peace for a few precious moments to exchange information.
He sat beside her and reached forward to pull on the string holding her robe in place. As the material folded back against her collarbones, he glimpsed her nakedness.
Uncertainty flickered across her face, and he held her gaze as he used both hands to smooth the robe off her shoulders and down her arms. The urge to protect her rose on the same tide as his desire, a dangerous combination he discarded in the heat of the moment.
As the garment fell away, Sariah reclined against an array of pillows, her body an open invitation. She arched her back, pushing her breasts forward, her nipples tight and red against her fair skin.
He pressed his palm against her belly. Her skin glittered in the flickering light, some female affectation enhancing her beauty as he slid his hand upward.
He followed the golden trail up her ribcage and under the soft swell of her breasts. Her sudden intake of air encouraged his gentle kneading from one side to the other.
“Come,” she whispered, “and lay beside me.”
When he started to move, she stopped him by reaching for his belt. Her trembling fingers could not lose the tie, and he untangled the knot, tossing the garment aside before lifting his tunic over his head.
He stretched out next to her, wondering only for a moment what the best angle for the spectators would be. Her surprising yet tentative kiss erased such thoughts, made her the focus of his attention. Spectators be damned.
The satin warmth of her mouth was all he needed. He cupped the back of her head, parted his lips and took ownership of her as she allowed.
A shock went through his body as her hand circled his cock. She stroked him slowly, in rhythm with their kiss. To save being spent too soon, he took her by the wrist and kissed the back of her hand.
She couldn’t know what her presence did to him, let alone her touch, so he would teach her. One blissful, excruciating moment at a time.
SARIAH BLUSHED, UNDERSTANDING she had rushed him. She only wanted this to end so they might be given some sort of privacy. Her brows drew together.
“They matter not, Sariah,” he whispered, stroking her cheek. “Kiss me again and again.”
She obeyed, as his gentle command did not go against her will. She liked the taste of him, the scratch of his daylong beard. His hands smoothed the lines of her body and calmed her spirit, forcing the unease from her mind.
Soon, her senses caught fire, as his hands gave way to his mouth, his lips burning a trail of desire over her skin. She held him close, as if such a thing could bring additional pleasure.
Titus drew back and she reclined while he explored her body. His fingertips drew feathered lines around her breasts and hips, then became more insistent when he neared the junction between her legs.
She drew her knees upward for him, trusting him to again be kind to her. He did not disappoint, using his touch to slack her inhibitions, finding and mastering the most sensitive parts of her body. As he touched her, he leaned forward and kissed her, captured the moan in the back of her throat, and pressed his fingers against her soft flesh.
Sariah released the reins of her control to move against him, to be ready for his penetration in hopes no pain would mar this experience. Her hand covered his, creating more delicious contact.
Breaking the kiss, he buried his head in her neck, nipping at her skin before moving lower to suckle her breasts. The pressure built inside her. She panted for breath and when she thought she could stand no more, he suddenly withdrew.
Titus rose to his knees and spun her onto her belly. The air rushed from her lungs in surprise. He pulled her hips backward and slid inside her before she realized what he intended.
She closed her eyes as a long moan escaped. No pain this time, only moments of blinding pleasure as he drove deep inside her. Gods, this was the thing of which the priestess spoke. A place inside tilting her world every time he stroked. A place so jealously guarded most men had trouble finding it.
Titus had no such trouble and her vocal encouragement moved him to become all the more frenzied. Taking her to the edge of collapse, he slowed and became controlled.
She regained some of her bearing, her body begging for more as if separate from her mind. Three times Titus sped toward release, only to regroup and begin anew as her ar
ms and legs trembled.
Her body flamed from head to toe, from the inside out. When he reached his hand up and down her spine, she shivered despite the sheen of sweat covering her body.
His pace increased again, and she begged him, “Faster!”
Instead, he took his time, as if he heard her body speak rather than her mouth. As she climbed the spiral of arousal, he clung to her, his body curved around hers as he bent her to his will.
He rocked against her, his movement uncontrolled, and he cried out as he spent himself. The moment propelled her to orgasm, and she buried her face in the pillow, comforted and shielded by his weight.
Titus curled around her, holding her close as they lay, panting, while the haze of passion passed. Her mind turned slowly to the dilemma she faced.
How to gain knowledge, pass secrets to Titus, and secure her freedom? If every move between her and her lover would be watched, communication would not be simple.
Glancing over her shoulder at Titus, peace stole over her. She would find a way. She would trust this man. She had no other choice.
He smoothed her hair from her face. “What troubles you?”
She looked into his face, sure and strong, as if nothing troubled him. She turned in his arms and lay her head close to his ear. “My priestess meets every few days with a tall man dressed in green and gold. I do not know him, for I never leave these walls. He selected me for this duty.”
He nodded and kissed her cheek, murmuring, “Do you remember anything else about him?”
“He has a beard and two gold rings on his right hand. His eyes are shrewd, as though he sees all.”
Tilting his head, he kissed her, the tenderest of gestures to thank her. A small kindness atop other kindnesses. She had not yet thought past the moment when she would leave this temple and her life behind.
To consider being with Titus, to ask him to take her with him, seemed too much. Alone on the street, she would not last a day, but with him? If he behaved at all times as he had in his moments with her, her fate could be much worse.
She chided herself and turned away. Too much to ask him to love her, or even like her. He saw her as a means to an end, though perhaps he was indeed a kind man.
This was business and she’d do well to remember.
TITUS FOUND HIMSELF reluctant to leave Saria’s bed. Even with a small mystery to unravel in the daylight hours, he gained enjoyment in watching the rise and fall of her shoulders as she slept.
He shook such thoughts from his head for they had no place. Sariah had many fine qualities, and he steeled himself against them for his own sake. His life held no room for the entanglements of a companion.
The fates had blessed him by providing the right woman in the right place at the right time. He dared not ask for more and dared not mistreat her for she would encounter enough harshness in her lifetime.
Titus slid from the sheets and dressed quickly, for dawn approached and with it, his duties to his men. Yet even as he tied his tunic, he dragged his feet.
Sariah opened her eyes and gazed at him from beneath a beaded blanket. Her languid expression spoke of a peaceful heart. He sat beside her so her body curved around him.
“What shall I tell my priestess?” she whispered.
“Tell her I am lazy and care little about my men or duty, only about my own welfare. Tell her we are all bored and fat and drunk, that I am being punished for poor performance.”
She nodded. They both understood this would be welcome news, if, in fact, any kind of rebellion was planned. His enemy needed to believe Rome slept in Phoenicia.
“And tell her,” he paused for a kiss, “I will be back in two days’ time.”
“Truly?”
He nodded, the hope in her voice piercing his heart. He needed the time and distance to regain his balance, for if he could spend all day in this bed with her, he likely would.
“I have never seen a woman like you,” he said. Young and ignorant of many things because of her captivity, yet open and willing in other ways.
She reached up to touch his face. “Nor I, a man like you.”
Words died in his throat at such an affectionate gesture. Hurriedly, he kissed the back of her hand and took his leave, handing a small bag of coins to the matron who sat waiting outside the door.
He wasted no time descending the hill, returning to camp, dressed and ready only moments before his men. When all the business of the morning had been sorted, he dismissed all save Emmaus to their duties.
“I have an assignment for you.” He steered his curious friend to a more private area. “I need you to find someone without him knowing you’re looking for him.”
“I see,” Emmaus nodded. “You have information from your lady?”
Titus looked toward the temple. “I do.”
“If I may say so, you look both exhilarated and exhausted this morning.”
“You may not.” He shot the man a direct glance. “I’m looking for a native, taller than typical. He holds some sort of position. I’m not certain if he is from the capital or another region.”
A thick pause filled the air.
“Anything further, Sir?”
“Not much,” Titus conceded. “He wears a beard, green and gold robes and two gold rings on his right hand.”
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t have to look for him. The man you described is the sitting provincial governor of Phoenecia.”
SARIAH PACED THE LENGTH of her room, anxiety twisting her insides as well as her thoughts. Davisha had yet to return from her first attendance at the temple ritual and the sun had reclined in the sky long ago.
Had Davisha survived the day? She had not seen Irrina, either. At first, she felt her sister’s absence a blessing. Now she worried Davisha’s performance had not met standards.
She stopped before the closed door and heard no noise on the other side. Creeping closer, she pulled the door open far enough to see down the corridor.
Empty. She stepped outside and inched down the hall, staying to the long shadows. Her slippered feet made no sound as she moved forward, and soon, urgent conversation drew her toward one of the anterooms adjacent to the temple forum.
She tried to appear as though she belonged and soon realized anyone of import already sat inside this room, behind a drawn curtain.
A man’s voice took charge, the man who had questioned her on the full moon. “It’s the wrong man.”
“I beg to differ,” Irrina countered. “One noble Roman is better than a ten without honor.”
“Untrue.” A third voice participated. “You were given detailed instruction. How did such a misstep occur?”
Silence. They discussed Titus. No other Roman mattered. She leaned closer and heard Irrina’s distressed answer. “The Legate would not cooperate. He made excuse after excuse, as if he were a boy-lover, which we cannot accommodate, and drank to oblivion. This one, this soldier, is of serious mind. He took no drink, no special interest in any of the girls until Sariah.”
“Then how does he end up bedding and patronizing the one we so carefully selected?”
Again, the priestess fell silent. Had Irrina miscalculated the intentions of these powerful men and gone against their will?
They could not call a halt to the plot they hatched now. Sariah did not make a bargain with Titus to have her dream snatched away by fickle fate.
She backed down the hallway and swept forward again, calling for the priestess as if seeking her. “Irrina?”
As she hoped, the curtain parted and Irrina called to her. She did not misread the relief on the woman’s face as she ushered her into the room. “Do you bring news, Sariah?”
A quick glance around the room told her only Irrina, the man in green robes, and a third man, difficult to see in the shadows, held conversation.
Without lingering over their faces, Sariah folded her hands in front of her and nodded. A good servant, she waited for permission to proceed.
&nbs
p; The green-robed man prompted her, clearly in charge of the situation. “What have you learned?”
Sariah directed her comments to Irrina. “The Romans number ten legion and some come and go to other parts of the land. This man, Titus, commands the troops surrounding the Legate. He sees and hears all.”
Irrina took her by the hand and led her to sit on a stool. “What more?”
“They are bored,” she remembered his exact words. “They do not understand their purpose here and wish for more glorious exploits. They grow fat and lazy.”
Both men grunted, not liking to hear their nation seemed of little import to Rome. She did not wish to remedy his thinking. “He believes he is punished for poor performance.”
Try as she might, her furtive glances told her nothing more about the second man in the room. Rather than appear to make effort, she shrugged and shook her head. “He complains about his post and says the Legate is a lazy fool focused only on leaving as soon as possible.”
“Bored and lazy,” Irrina repeated, turning toward her guests. “The words bear promise.”
The third man spoke, his voice low. “And what of his ways?”
The question puzzled Sariah. “His ways, my lord?”
His words snaked around her like a physical thing. “How does he in bedding you?”
She sat up straight. “As well as any, I suppose. I try to please him as my mistress requires.”
“Do you think him handsome?”
She frowned as her face flushed. “He is not as awful as some. He is well kept and kindly toward me. He is lonely.”
Her answer brought a sinister laugh, making her shiver. Whether they pleased one another mattered not. What information she brought forward from him mattered most.
“Forgive me, Priestess,” she rose and bowed her head. “Davisha has not returned. Where might I find her?”
“She lingers in the baths,” came the answer. “You have leave to find her there.”
After a curt bow, she exited with their permission. Rather than scurry away, as she would have preferred, she lingered to hear their next words.
Seducing the Roman Page 4
