Damon's Price

Citation preview

Love sometimes comes late and, perhaps, at too great a price.

Widowhood agrees with thirty-eight-year-old Claudia Sabina. Her husband and father left her wealthy, but her most prized possession is their gift of independence. She enjoys a freedom few women in male-dominated Roman society will ever know. One of her most valuable assets is Damon, a young Greek slave bequeathed to her by her father. Intelligent, resourceful and educated beyond the norm for even a freeborn Roman citizen, Damon is a man of many talents. It doesn’t hurt that he is also a pleasure to look at. For months, Damon hides the fact he’s fallen in love with his new mistress. He convinces himself he can be satisfied with her nearness—until the night he walks in on her bath, and his rigid control deserts him. Consequences fail to matter as he offers her full use of talents that, until now, he’s never revealed. In a moment of weakness, Claudia crosses the line laid down by Roman law and custom, immersing herself in an illegal and dangerous love affair. A choice that threatens both their futures.

Warning: Imagine what you might do with a naked Greek god whose sole purpose is to satisfy your every whim, then keep on imagining. This title contains an abundance of hot, hot, hot M/F loving.

eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520 Macon GA 31201 Damon’s Price Copyright © 2010 by Ali Katz ISBN: 978-1-60504-946-5 Edited by Linda Ingmanson Cover by Scott Carpenter All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: March 2010 www.samhainpublishing.com

Damon’s Price Ali Katz

Dedication

To Mr. Gallus. You set me up for this, didn’t you?

Chapter One

“Bless you, pater.” Claudia’s whispered benediction floated to the ceiling on curls of steam as she slowly sank into scented luxury. This private bath in the master suite had been her father’s one selfindulgence. Now it was hers, part of his legacy, and one of many things she loved about being mistress of her ancestral home, Dulcia—sweet indeed. With her head resting on the edge of the tub, she lounged against the slanted back and let all the tension of the day drift away. The water, hot as she could bear, lapped at her sensitive breasts. For the most part, widowhood agreed with her. Marcus was gone four years this month. She seldom missed him. Independence, another precious gift from her father, far outweighed any advantages she’d known as wife to a man who made his living at sea. No matter how good the living, a life lived waiting for her man to return had worn thin very quickly. Marcus had his good points, though. Fidelity being one she appreciated. In a time when a man’s loyalty to family, city, emperor was his greatest virtue, Marcus Portius Crassus was known from Tripoli to the Pillars of Hercules for extending his to his wife. A sailor with scruples, he was rumored to endure the good-natured ribbing with a knowing smile that earned his wife a reputation as the mysterious goddess who held him in thrall. A wistful smile crept over her lips. The goddess, in turn, gave him no reason to let his eyes wander. Her body had been good to her in that respect—slow to show her age despite bearing three children for him. Her skin shivered to her touch as she let her hands graze over her body in the rising steam. Even at thirty-eight, her breasts were still firm, stomach tight, thighs smooth and slender. What a waste. Claudia had no delusions. What Marcus loved was fucking her and the enthusiasm with which she welcomed him. When he was home, and he seldom was, they’d enjoyed each other—especially the homecomings. The last time, an eternity ago, he’d come to her from Hispania, if she remembered correctly. Rough, unshaven, he’d stormed into the house, swept her into his arms and to their bed without a word, right in front of the servants and children. Claudia sighed, sinking into the memory. He’d been mad with lust, tearing at her clothes until she lay naked and moaning beneath him. Gods, he’d tried to devour her. The memory chased up her limbs, through her, and centered in her loins.

Damon’s Price

Tonight she missed him; her body missed him. The urgent roughness of his hands, the taste of his mouth flavored with the sour wine he preferred, the fullness as he plunged into her again and again. And his scent, oh, his scent—he’d smelled of the sea and the sweet balm he used in his bath. Even after four years, the memory of his scent would catch her unaware now and then. Like tonight. Every nerve in her body awakened. Her hips rocked, guiding her hand between her thighs, remembering. A door closed. Claudia froze. When her breath returned, she raised her head to find her secretary, Damon, standing just inside the room. He brought the correspondence from earlier in the day for her signature. The tablets trembled in his hands, but when she searched his eyes expecting fear, she saw fire. “Let me help you, Era.” His voice was low, husky with arousal. Bold. So very bold. A wave of lust swept over her. Claudia donned a disapproving expression and grabbed the towel from the stool beside the tub. She stood without shame. “I should have you whipped for that,” she said, stepping from the bath. “Yes, Era.” The words were meek enough, but nothing in his stance suggested he expected her to follow through. A quick rubdown with the coarse fabric eased the tingling in her sensitive flesh. She should have him punished, but what reason would she give? He caught me masturbating and offered to help. A smile crept its way into her thoughts. That would keep the servants amused for months. Let it go. After a lifetime of handling slaves, she was still hopelessly inept in the art of discipline. Turning her back to him, she waved him toward the small desk on the other side of the room and grabbed the first garment at hand. A robe, a gift Marcus brought her from one of his last journeys. The wine-colored silk irritated her heated flesh as she wrapped it around her and cinched the belt tight. Damon crossed the room to deposit the tablets and take his place beside the desk. “I knocked,” he said. “The right thing would have been to leave quietly and come back later,” she warned him coldly. She slid into the chair without looking in his direction. “I didn’t want you to worry about who had tried the door.” “Kind of you.” She should tell him to leave. He could wait elsewhere for the correspondence. Instead, Claudia tried to focus on the first letter. Damon’s meticulous transcription decayed to a blur on the tablet. She needed all her concentration to control the trembling in her hands. She heard a sharp intake of breath and glanced up to catch him staring at her breasts. Her body’s instant reaction stunned her. Her nipples grew taut against the slick fabric of the robe. A warm, liquid rush dampened her sex.

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The evidence of his arousal swelled behind the fabric of his tunic. She turned in the chair to face him. The robe didn’t turn with her. It slipped open, exposing her chest and all of one leg. She made no attempt to correct the problem. With one hand gripping the back of her chair, she returned his scrutiny. The boy was certainly a pleasure to look at. She’d admired his form often enough, but always with the appreciation one might give to an especially fine marble likeness—almost always. At the moment, there was no comparing him to any image carved from stone. His living heat radiated between them. She drank in his rugged charms—sweetly disheveled hair, black as night, worn longer than was fashionable, black brow, midnight eyes. The shadow of a beard darkened his face. He was slim but well fed and well muscled, and he was the most intelligent man she’d ever known. Yes, man, she reminded herself. “How old are you, Damon?” she asked. “Twenty-six, Era.” Titus, her son, would soon be twenty-three. “Why would you suggest such a thing? What do you expect in return?” The question clearly insulted him. He cast his gaze aside, but not fast enough to hide a spark of anger. “To watch your pleasure,” he said. As simple as that? Not likely. She read no dissemblance in his face, however. Against her better judgment, Claudia continued her examination of his beautiful body. She was playing with fire, but the fire in her loins and in his eyes compelled her. Without diverting her interest from the breadth of his shoulders beneath the loose fitting tunic, she amazed herself by asking, “If I said yes, what would you do?” A sudden gasp stopped the rise and fall of his chest. The quick glance she’d intended to judge his reaction became a prolonged gaze into his eyes when she recognized in them something she had not seen in a very long time. This beautiful young man lusted for her—for her, a woman twelve years his senior. “What would you do?” she whispered. His full lips parted for a sigh. “First, I would take down your hair.” His hand twitched. “Do you know how beautiful your hair is? How it shines in the sun? Why do you hide it in a knot behind your head?” “This is how matrons wear their hair.” “You’re no matron.” “I am a matron with two grown children, Damon. I’ve outlived a husband and a son.” Her words did not have the sobering effect she’d expected—on either of them. “Tell me, what do you want?” His gaze traveled over her exposed throat and chest. A little groan escaped him.

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“I want to feel your flesh quiver under my touch.” Again, his lips parted. His tongue slipped between to wet them. “I want the weight of your breasts in my palms. I want to drown in the sounds of your pleasure.” Every hair on her body stood on end. She shivered, as much at the sound of his voice as at the words he spoke. It was madness to encourage him. Death came to mind. Rome did not look lightly on her women having sex with slaves. “What you’re suggesting might be quite costly for either of us. Both, more likely.” Yet everyone knew the practice was as common as a man taking a mistress. “I have a mouth for your pleasure,” Damon said. “No one will know. I’ve longed to taste you from the first moment I saw you.” His breathy baritone purred over her skin, raising goose flesh. Once the possibility took root, it would not be wrenched free. Too far, she thought. I’ve let this go too far. She had invited him to seduce her and had willingly succumbed. “Show me,” she breathed. Before the words passed her lips, Damon moved in to straddle her knees. He swept the band from her hair, letting the steam-dampened curls shiver down her back. His long, slender fingers combed through the curls, tugging slightly, smoothing them. Claudia’s eyes drifted closed. Fingertips grazed the length of her neck and nudged the robe past her shoulders. The soft fabric whispered to her waist. He knew just where to touch, how hard, how fast. His hands fluttered over her back and shoulders. Her flesh quivered beneath their callused surface. These were not a scribe’s hands, but the hands of a man used to sharing in the planting, pruning, harvesting, hauling—hard labor their business required. Labor he was not obligated to do. Those wonderful hands trailed fire wherever they fell. The rough pads of his thumbs brushed her aching nipples. Claudia bit her lip, willing herself to silence. Though her rooms had their own wing, she couldn’t take the chance any of the servants might hear. Her breath came in silent gasps. One knee insinuated itself between her legs. Without volition, she opened to him and he knelt on the floor in front of her, tugging at the knot of her robe until the fabric fell away and the reality of what they were doing sank in. Her breath seized in her throat. She shouldn’t allow this. She didn’t know this man, not like this. He was loyal, but to whom? She’d moved in on him, usurping his position when she took over her inheritance. Until four months ago, he was in charge and she’d never considered he might resent her. Yet, here she was, considering it. Common sense warned her. This shouldn’t happen. He could ruin her. She needed to stop.

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But when his whispered endearments reached her ears, “…beautiful…Era mea…”, and she felt his hot breath bathe her flesh, she knew there was no stopping. The tenderness in his voice drew her eyes. Even in the dim light, she could see the heat in his half-lidded gaze. He appraised her with something akin to worship. Right or wrong, she trusted him. No one could look at her like that and mean her harm. But how would she forget that look in the morning? Without warning, Damon dug his fingers into her sides and yanked her toward him. The coarse shadow of his beard rasped over her skin as he covered her breast with his mouth and sucked. Claudia stifled a moan and leaned into him, encouraging him. The smooth surface of his tongue stroked the sensitive nipple. Her sex throbbed to his rhythm, seizing now and then, hinting of things to come. Damon shuddered. His kisses moved north, alternately nipping and kissing in a line to her shoulder and neck, nuzzling his way to her ear. His lips brushed her cheek and over her lips, just a breath. Fire surged through her. All thought of consequence melted in the heat. Like an infant seeking sustenance, she turned into the caress, chasing the gentle kiss. She needed that kiss, a real kiss. But his lips didn’t part for her when she captured his mouth, though his breath quickened and his heart pounded beneath her palm which had somehow found its way to his chest. A desperate, painful longing burst inside her. She drew away. He removed her hand. “Best you don’t touch me,” he whispered, his voice full of gravel. He stood, lifting her from the chair, his hands cradling her ass as he carried her to the bed and laid her atop the woolen covers. His erection beneath the tunic brushed her thigh, once. At the single glancing contact, a surging need to wrap her legs around him, to have him buried deep inside her threatened, and she panicked. She couldn’t allow this. She wasn’t in control. She tried to roll away. “Shhh, shhh, trust me, Era.” He murmured soft reassurance, kissing down her body while his hands stroked her thighs, loosening and spreading them. She yielded to him as his kisses and his caresses approached their goal. His fingers traced the crease where her leg met her body then parted her labia and plunged into her well. At the same moment, his mouth found her clit. Claudia’s hips rose from the bed, her body taking on a will of its own. She writhed with each stroke of his tongue, each thrust of his fingers into her depths. Somehow, her lack of control seemed meaningless when his hand slipped beneath her, raising her slightly from the bed to complete his possession. Madness gripped her. Her fingers twined themselves in his hair. She ground her pelvis against his face. Damon didn’t protest. Instead, his moans sent sweet vibrations through her. He held her like an offering, aiding her efforts to bury him with her cunt, and ran his tongue up her cleft, flicking at her clit. A knot formed in her, tightening around the tiny nub. He sucked it into his mouth.

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The breath rushed out of her as the knot at her core exploded. Tension built from years of neglect burst away. Somewhere in her mind, enough caution remained to force her mouth to close against the cries battering her throat. A third finger stretched her, giving her muscles something to clutch. Damon covered her with his mouth. His rhythmic moans and gentle sucking drew wave after wave of pleasure from the center of her being until she thought she would happily die if he, oh gods, please, didn’t stop. Too soon, her body went limp. Damon kept his face pressed to her until the waning spasms finally ceased. Then he kissed her thighs, belly and breasts, and pulled himself to his feet. His hands stroked her sides, gently massaging. Her body hummed. She stretched like a cat right down to her toes and glanced up to catch him admiring his handiwork with triumph in his eyes and a grimace of pain furrowing his brow. Such self-control. Too much. Why should he be allowed what she didn’t have? Claudia rose to a seat. She snaked her hand to the back of his neck and pulled him into the forbidden kiss. This time, he didn’t deny her. Gently, she sipped at his lips. Her tongue probed. He tasted of her. Her scent clung to him and filled her head with the memory of what he’d done to her. Her body responded with a shudder. His lips parted. Their tongues joined, tentative at first. Then, more boldly, he slipped beyond her teeth, testing her reaction before covering her mouth in a deep, probing kiss. Perhaps the kiss distracted him from noticing when she pulled at the hem of his tunic, raised it and tucked it into his belt. But when she slid her hand over the tight bulge behind the subligar he wore, his breathing grew frantic. Still, he didn’t stop her. She tugged the knot at his waist and the garment came away easily. His cock fell heavily into her waiting hand. Damon grunted into her mouth. His hand clamped down on her wrist as though he meant to pull her away, but his hips pressed his swollen cock against her palm. She explored the length of him with light fingers. His balls were so tight she wondered how he hadn’t exploded already. Wrapping her hand around him, she began to stroke. Squeeze up…letting her thumb slide over the silky head, capturing the sticky wetness…slide down. Again. Slowly at first, then faster until Damon took over, thrusting through the circle of her fingers and groaning into her mouth. She captured the cries that erupted from him and thrilled to feel the sound of her name echo against the back of her throat. She stroked his tongue to the rhythm of his thrusts. His member pulsed violently and his thick, hot seed splashed against the skin of her belly. When his spasms quieted, she continued to fondle him gently until he was limp and quiescent in her hand. The kiss turned soft and passionate. He took her mouth with a breathless intensity. Every sense she owned responded. Her head filled with his taste and his scent, with the warmth of his breath against her

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cheek and the sound of his pulse beating in time with her heart. The kiss affected her as all that had come before had not. Her body melted. Her heart swelled. When he pulled away, a part of her went with him. His thighs quivered as he stood before her and adjusted his clothing with his eyes averted. He walked to the end of the bed, picked up the towel she’d discarded earlier from the floor and returned to wipe his cream from her belly. Claudia lifted her hand to his cheek and forced him to face her. He had a haunted look until he corrected it and turned to kiss her palm. Something was amiss, but his silence warned her not to ask. Without a word, he went to the desk and gathered up the tablets he’d carried in for her signatures. She knew he might need them to justify his presence in her room. They would get around to finishing them tomorrow. Tomorrow, Claudia thought. What would their morning be like? Damon gave a slight bow, his usual goodbye, and left her wondering.

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Chapter Two

He shouldn’t have let her touch him. He’d meant to stop her, but the kiss… The fault was his, allowing himself to be swept away by a kiss. For a moment, what he’d intended as a simple gift to a woman he admired promised the unattainable and his careless need grabbed hold, giving the heat with which she’d welcomed him more weight than was prudent. For the length of a kiss, she’d made him feel like a man. Now, of course, on returning to reality, he never felt more like a slave. The halls were empty. The rest of her small household had long ago retired for the night. Damon walked the long corridor toward the public rooms careful to maintain the silence. Shadows parted before the nimbus of golden light cast by the small lamp he carried. Admired? Admit it, fool. You’ve let yourself fall in love with her. The light danced around him when his heavy sigh disturbed the flame. From the moment she appeared at her father’s deathbed almost a year ago, he’d allowed himself to entertain the memory of that first sight of her. Those liquid brown eyes, that mane of black curls, the graceful sweep of her neck and shoulders had burned themselves into his brain, and he, in his arrogance, had welcomed the heat like something to savor. And so it was—until she surprised everyone by returning to take her father’s place as Dulcia’s owner. Any other woman would have hired an overseer. He’d been a fool, indeed, to think he’d learn to live with wanting someone forever beyond his reach. Still, he wouldn’t regret tonight. Not if she never looked on him again. Not if she sent him away. She likely would send him away. Damon slipped into Claudia’s office to leave the unsigned tablets on her desk. The morning would be difficult. Claudia, however, was a lady. He trusted her discretion, as she must his, or tonight would not have happened. Had he really called her Claudia to her face? He set the lamp on a corner of the desk. Its soft light revealed parchments and tablets strewn about the surface in a kind of ordered chaos. She’d been going over the books again without him. No, these were the reports from Ostia, the monthly audit of her husband’s shipping business. She’d never shown the reports to him nor asked his opinion, so he left them where he found them and picked up a tablet of notes, questions for him scribbled in her graceful hand. As he pulled her chair from under the desk to sit, his hand fell on her palla.

Ali Katz

He lifted the garment to his face. It smelled of her. He smelled of her. Her scent wrapped him in the same warm blanket of contentment the kiss had conjured. Yet, nothing about her kiss hinted of contentment. The skill with which she’d captured him spoke of a woman who grabbed what she wanted and made it her own. He’d known that about her, yet never considered she might want more than the simple release he offered. He so often underestimated her. With her girlish frame and the light in her eyes as she consumed everything he had to teach her about running a plantation Dulcia’s size, he easily forgot she’d lived an entire lifetime between leaving a bride and returning a widow to her father’s home. That he hadn’t anticipated her reaction hardly mattered. The battle was lost the moment he opened the door to her room. He could no more have refrained from offering than he could keep his cock from rising at the sight of her touching herself in the bath, or now, in the simple act of remembering. Time to think about something else. Sitting here in virtual darkness surrounded by her presence only served to remind him how badly he’d fallen. He set the unread note aside and arranged the desk for the morning, then pinched out the lamp and left the office by the outer door into the peristyle. Starlight guided him to his room, one of four guest cubicula opening onto the garden. His was the smallest and doubled for an office. Rufius, the House Steward, occupied another. The rest were vacant. Damon moved silently along the cobblestone walkway, not wanting to attract Rufius’s attention—or questions. He eased open the door to his room. The tiny space boasted a window, which offered him natural light for his work during the day, but at this time of night, with the shutters closed, there was only varying degrees of blackness. For the moment, he didn’t need to see. Two steps into the room, he grabbed his lyre from its peg on the wall in front of him and his scribe kit from the desk on the left then made his way to the stable where Echo waited. He took a moment to wash in the watering trough before entering. The mare had belonged to Claudia’s father, Lucius Claudius Sabinus. Two years ago, Damon uncovered a bit of thievery by one of Dulcia’s clients. The evidence he’d gathered was enough to win Lucius a tidy settlement and he’d thanked Damon by making a gift of the mare. Eager for a run, she danced in her stall while Damon threw the blanket and saddle over her back. He was more than happy to oblige her. With his things hung from a saddle horn, he led her across the courtyard and through the gate before mounting. The horse set her own pace, prancing into the open field, knowing exactly where he wanted to go. At the flat stretch, she broke into a gallop and cleared the wall easily in her usual place. Echo meant more to him than this little freedom to ride the night. She was a beautiful Iberian chestnut worth five-thousand denarii. He’d breed her in the spring. With the right sire, her foals would sell for half as much. Damon thought of everything in terms of its price. His price was twenty thousand denarii. If he threw Echo into the pot, he was thirteen-thousand twenty-one denarii short of enough to buy his manumission. Echo represented hope.

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They climbed onto the road and he let her walk the last half mile. When the inn came into view, Damon’s spirits lifted. Four horses were tethered out front. Horses meant money, and he expected some, at least, would fall his way. He tied Echo to a tree and entered the tavern. “You’re late tonight, Damon.” A sly smile accompanied the innkeeper’s greeting as Damon pressed his way up to the counter. “You’ve two customers in the back, growing impatient with waiting.” Customers who, no doubt, drank the innkeeper’s wine while they waited. The proprietor had taken little coaxing when Damon asked for space in his common room to offer his scribe services. The man knew a good deal when he heard one. The arrangement had worked to their mutual benefit for the past five years. Damon took the cup of wine the man poured for him and nodded his thanks, then made his way through the dimly lit, noisy common room to a tiny table in the farthest, darkest corner. He’d brought his own lamp and oil, never sure what setting he’d find himself trying to work in. No sooner did the wick sputter into flame when his first customer of the night approached the table. Damon smiled to see his friend and countryman, Nikos, come into the circle of light. “Yasoo, Damon,” Nikos said, his straight, white teeth glowing against his dark features. “You’ll take a letter for me tonight, for my mother?” “Gladly. She’s well, I hope.” Personal letters seldom came through Damon’s hands. Not for privacy’s sake—a scribe’s first lesson was discretion—but the expense of delivering any correspondence was prohibitive. “Fine, fine, no bad news from Athens this year. I thought she’d like to know she’s a new grandmother, that’s all.” Damon’s smile broadened. “Congratulations!” He could be happy for his friend, but such happiness always came tempered with a reminder that his own position was far different. Nikos was a free man, a citizen, with a growing family and a thriving business. There would be no children for Damon, not born into slavery. His second customer asked about Claudia. The local gentry, apparently, wondered when she might be ready to start entertaining suitors. Damon quietly but firmly informed the man his mistress’s social life was not his responsibility. He stayed until closing, playing the lyre at the innkeeper’s request, and left at midnight four coppers and three sestertii closer to freedom. At this rate, he might meet his goal in about fifty years.

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Chapter Three

What have I done to myself? The question woke Claudia hours before dawn, robbing her of the deepest, most peaceful sleep she’d experienced in years and giving her no rest since. Her blessed contentment shattered, she could not shove the man from her mind or the memory of his touch from her body. Still, she’d managed to get most of yesterday’s work off her desk. Only one signature remained. The tablet lay in front of her, but the last three paragraphs of Damon’s carefully worded contract eluded her. The closer the time came for Damon to appear, the more distracted she became. He would have finished his rounds by now. She awaited his arrival with both anticipation and dread. She’d chewed her lower lip raw. Blaming him would be so easy, and just what she needed to ease her guilt. He had, after all, tempted her. Her mind kept returning to the fact, seeking justification for its mutinous surrender, but reason insisted she claim responsibility. He was a slave—her slave, and bound to do what she bid. And bid she would, without a doubt. A shiver coursed through her at the memory of what he’d done to her. She had no problem blaming him for making her want more. The idea of using him shamed her a little, yet she could not convince herself that, if he refused her in the future, she wouldn’t insist. The knock at her door stopped her breath. She considered finding some task for him to do far away from the house—a coward’s temporary solution. But six orders sat on the corner of her desk awaiting his attention. He rapped again. She forced herself to breathe. “Enter.” Claudia picked up the contract and put her mind to those last few clauses. “Good morning, Era,” he said in a perfectly normal voice that flowed from her ears to her sex, plucking every nerve on the way. “I’m almost done,” she said without looking at him. “I’ll be with you in a moment. Look these over while you wait, please.” She pushed the stack of orders toward him. Claudia made three more attempts to understand what she read. If she’d thought anticipating his arrival distracting, his actual presence was ten times so. How could she keep her eyes on her reading when they were constantly drawn to the fall of fabric over his hips and thighs where he stood in front of her?

Damon’s Price

She watched the movement of his hand as he lifted each tablet a few inches from the table to read. He had beautiful, long-fingered hands, the nails scrubbed and neatly trimmed. Her sex clutched remembering the way those fingers had filled her. A shudder betrayed her. Damon’s hand trembled when he reached for the next tablet. So, he noticed her scrutiny and was not unaffected as he wanted her to believe. Somehow, the fact eased her mind. Claudia stopped pretending to read and gathered herself. Why was she so nervous? This was her office, her house, her slave. The time had come to take charge. She looked up, aware of every inch her eyes swept over on their way to his face. Damon waited for her to speak first. She needed something, anything, from him to tell her what last night had been to him. If the answer was a job well done, so be it, but this pretense of normalcy disturbed her. When it became obvious she wouldn’t break the silence, he said, “The wagons are here for the first shipment to Rome. They’ve begun loading. Do you want to come with me this morning when I inspect?” A surge of annoyance stifled her response. She’d get up and leave before letting him act like nothing had happened between them. “Sit.” His eyes widened with alarm. “This isn’t a good idea,” he muttered, but he crossed the tiny room and dragged the other chair to the front of the desk. By the time he sat, his good-natured calm had melted to concern. “I’ve offended you,” he said quietly. “Quite the contrary,” Claudia said. She set the tablet she’d been trying to read aside. “I think I must have been the one to offend. You seemed quite upset when we parted.” “No, Era, not upset. Bewildered, perhaps. The end was…unexpected.” Unexpected? Did she commit some breach of etiquette? The idea brought a smile to her face. “I find that hard to believe.” “Era, I promise you, my only intention—” “Really, Damon, I couldn’t have you leave my room in such a state.” Understanding dawned in his face. He smiled. “I assure you, I was very aware of my state, Era. I needed only a moment or two to compose myself.” Claudia was the first to admit she lacked experience in these matters, but a moment? “What surprises you?” he asked. “Self control was one of Lydia’s first lessons.” Lydia? “Who’s Lydia?” She might want to write her a thank you. Damon cocked his head. “Forgive me. I thought you knew your father bought me from a brothel.” Had she heard correctly? A brothel? Her father? A wash of cold swept through her. The simmering heat consuming her vanished. She caught herself gaping and closed her mouth with a snap. “No, Damon, I was not aware.”

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A fiery glow rose beneath his olive complexion. “Not for those services, of course,” he hurried to say. “Lucius wasn’t a client. He used my scribe services when in Rome, but never at the House—er…at Lydia’s House—never at Lydia’s House.” He took a deep breath and laughed. “Forgive me for babbling.” Claudia chose to ignore this bit of information. Her mind wouldn’t consider any possible reason why her father might… Lucius? She brought that line of thought to a halt immediately. “Is it common for a man of your talents to be found in such places?” The corners of his mouth lifted into a quirky grin. “To which talents are you referring, Era?” Last night. Now again. Where had this sauciness come from? This was a Damon she’d never met. She would not allow him to evade the question. She returned the expression without humor. Duly chastened, he lowered his gaze to his hands. “I was there only two years.” “Even so, Damon, someone spent a fortune on your education.” Gods, he’d run the entire estate himself for six months after her father died, and they were pulling an excellent profit this year. “As beautiful as your body is, no one paid your value for it.” His reluctance to answer was obvious, but Claudia would not relent. “When my first owner died, I was sold with the estate.” She waited. “His wife wanted revenge more than my value.” Again, she waited. “I was young, Era. I didn’t know how these things work.” “You were afraid of her,” she suggested. “Yes.” The admission came easily after all. “In the end, everyone got what he wanted. My humiliation satisfied her and I got away. Lydia treated me well. My two years with her were lucrative. I was halfway to buying my bond when she sold me to your father—for five times what she paid. Lydia couldn’t have been happier.” But what about Damon? Did her father know he’d ripped freedom from the boy’s grasp? She hated to think him capable of such callousness. “So, Lydia got a bargain and you got fucked.” She meant to say it. Still, heat rose to her cheeks the moment the word left her mouth. Damon laughed at the uncharacteristic obscenity. “Many times, Era.” Wry amusement played on his features. Obviously, there was more to Damon than first met the eye. Having his hopes crushed so thoroughly at so tender an age would have turned a lesser man bitter. Claudia searched beyond the beauty and good-natured charm and found nothing resembling bitterness. Instead, she found peace and a stoicism far beyond his years. “Do you understand how these things work now, Damon?”

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His surprise was quite satisfying after being on the receiving end so far. He recovered quickly, and the fire she’d seen last night returned. Slowly, he leaned over the desk, bringing his eyes level with hers, and captured her gaze. “Yes, Era. I come when you call.” Just a few little words. They bathed her skin like a warm breeze. Claudia’s heart fluttered. Her voice faltered. “You, uh, understand you can refuse my advances, any or all of them.” “Yes. I know.” Even as she wondered how he did it, her nipples peaked and her sex grew heavy at the timbre of his voice. “And you’ll stay until I’m done with you.” “Yes, Era.” “And you’ll enjoy every minute,” she whispered. “Yes.” The breathy promise blew through her, leaving behind a tingle of anticipation. For a long second, their eyes remained locked. There was a knock. Claudia turned toward the sound in a moment of confusion. The door. She took a quick appraisal. A glance at Damon found him sitting back in his chair absorbed with the tablets. The abrupt change unsettled her. “Enter.” Rufius, her House Steward, came in and flashed a disapproving scowl in Damon’s direction to find him seated. “You have a guest, Era. Julius Barba.” Barba was the only of her father’s clients to make regular appearances. They had all shown up, in ones and twos, after the funeral and again when she’d moved her permanent residence to Dulcia several months ago, but this one kept popping up like a bad reputation. “Does he want something, Rufius?” Claudia asked because, apparently, Lucius had the bad form to die owing this one a favor. “I think not this time, Era.” An obligation and a nuisance. Still, Claudia resigned herself. “See to his comfort, Rufius,” she sighed. “Tell him I’ll join him in the garden shortly and send Mania to my room please.” She turned her attention back to Damon, who rose from his seat to stand in front of her desk waiting dismissal. Was this the man who, a moment ago, had turned her mind to mush with the sound of his voice? Again, his pretense of normalcy left her wondering. Then he gave her a playful look. “Are you done with me, Era?” Claudia laughed and waved him toward the door. If the man was manipulating her, whatever he wanted, he deserved.

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Damon paused with his hand on the latch for a second before looking over his shoulder at her. For one brief moment, the fire was back, burning a hole straight to her heart. Then he swallowed, blinked and his expression shifted into an everyday smile. “Shall I hold the wagons for your inspection, Era?” “Yes, thank you, Damon,” she said. Emulating his calm took some effort. “I’ll be there in an hour.” The man definitely had talents.

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Chapter Four

Holding audience was not Claudia’s favorite pastime. Even in Rome the obligation wore on her. Here at Dulcia the infrequency was a welcome relief, but it made the occasional visit more of an annoyance. She stopped under the portico to watch her guest for a moment while preparing to be hospitable. Julius Barba made himself at home in her garden. They were near in age, she and he, childhood acquaintances, both born and raised in Sabina, both long-time residents of the city. They should have things in common, but their separate lives had provided little. “Good morning, Julius,” Claudia said on entering the peristyle. The man looked up with a smile. Neatly coiffed, clean-shaven, he was handsome and trim for his age and quite aware of the fact. “Please forgive my delay. I confess there’s little time to visit today. We have a shipment leaving for Rome…” “Please, my dear, don’t think twice.” He rose to greet her. Taking her by the arm, he led her to her own garden bench. “Your man provided breakfast. Sit. Share a few bites with me.” Did he just call me his “dear”? Claudia bit back a caustic reply. She was letting this inconvenient visit bother her too much. It wouldn’t do to alienate the man. Even if she wasn’t likely to benefit from the client relationships herself, preserving them for her son’s sake should be a priority. That Barba made himself available so regularly actually spoke well of his loyalty to her family. She should be grateful, but the man’s condescending treatment rankled, and the fact he towered over her five-foot frame added to his ability to make her feel like a girl. “For a moment,” she said with measured sweetness. “What can I do for you today, Julius?” “Just a visit, please. I enjoy your company.” She joined him on the bench under the lemon tree, noting how the tree’s branches bowed under the weight of its fruit. She’d have to get Rufius to lighten their load, though she loved the way the scent of lemons flowered the air. “Someone should remove some of this fruit.” Julius echoed her thoughts. “Your man must know better than to let the tree grow so heavy.” Claudia sighed. There was any number of things she’d rather be doing, including picking lemons. But he was a guest. So she sat with him, nibbling cheese and fruit, making small talk. She tried to give him her attention. Her thoughts, however, kept slipping away to the conversation with Damon.

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She knew nothing about whores or brothels except a few tittered remarks from behind the hands of other women who knew nothing about them. She’d seen courtesans, of course, in the forum and markets. They were easily recognized by their retinues of slaves and hangers-on. She’d always thought them exotic and mysterious. Even the coarser streetwalkers who plied their wares under the fornices at the theater and circus had a mystery about them. Damon had worked in a house. Did women actually visit those places? Of course, Claudia was not so naïve she wasn’t aware men sometimes sought their own gender for gratification. But Damon understood women. He’d shown her things about her body she’d never known. Claudia wondered what her father might think of the uses she planned for Damon’s many talents. She smiled to herself before remembering where she was. A glance told her Julius had seen. He appeared quite pleased with himself. “Did I hear you say you’ve recently returned from Rome?” she asked to break the silence gathered around her reverie. “What news do you have of the grain shipment?” “It arrived the day before I left—three months late again. Good news to the rabble, they were getting close to rioting.” “Bad news for me, though,” Claudia said, shaking her head. “My ships will be late leaving port again.” It was beginning to feel inevitable that something would go wrong with each new contract. The Crassii would be breathing down her neck. Claudia stood. “The wagons for Rome are waiting for my inspection. I’m sorry to have to leave you.” “Let me walk with you. A pleasant stroll through the orchard might be just the thing to distract you from some of these obligations.” “How kind of you,” Claudia said through her teeth. What she really wanted was time to think. Delays were costly. Marcus had never shared anything of his business with her, so when she inherited the ships, she took her father-in-law’s advice and hired the man he found to oversee them. They had no control over the priorities set at the ports. Still, her name appeared on the contracts. She waited for the day Titus finished his military obligation and took over his father’s legacy. Until that happened, she remained at the mercy of the harbormaster. The walk through the olive groves actually proved to be quite pleasant once she found a way to put aside her concerns. It was clear for a December morning. The sun took most of the chill from the air. Julius slowed his pace for her, making the leisurely walk soothing. Claudia enjoyed the tranquility among the gnarled trees in this, the old orchard. She often came out here to relax. “Do you inspect every shipment leaving Dulcia?” he asked after a while. “I will,” she said. “This is the first of the season. As a child, I helped with the harvest. We all did, but my father never shared much about the business end of running things. The last few months have been challenging. Fortunately, Damon is willing to teach me.”

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“Damon?” “Yes, my father’s Land Steward. He’s been acting as my secretary.” “The Greek. He’s young.” Claudia wasn’t sure which of the two attributes brought on Julius’s disapproval—probably both. “Yes, he’s young. My father trusted him with every aspect of his business. Damon kept things going smoothly for half a year before I moved my residence here. I’m glad for the opportunity to learn from him. This,” she said, gesturing widely to take in the whole plantation, “is something I will love doing.” Julius paused to gaze down at her. “You intend to stay in Sabina, then.” “Yes, if circumstances allow, I intend to stay.” “You may find yourself missing Rome.” The sudden intensity of his gaze made Claudia uneasy. “Life is quite different in the country. It can be lonely.” She’d expected this, the real reason he chose to frequent her garden. Was the chance to live a life free of male intervention too much to ask? Her father hadn’t thought so. He’d left her free to make her own choice. She hesitated, trying to form a response to Julius’s comment that would let him know, without plainly saying, she wasn’t interested. “I’m not a social creature, Julius,” she said, finally. “In the city, I was obliged to be. Here, I’m thankful for the solitude.” They could see the bottling shed now, and Damon, standing at the back of the wagon, supervising the loading of the last few amphorae. Claudia couldn’t suppress a thrill of pleasure at seeing his dark profile. Julius did not seem to notice; he entertained thoughts of his own. “Good morning, Era, Domine,” Damon greeted them with all the deference expected of his station. No one would ever guess he’d already spent the early hours with Claudia dragging his life secrets from him. Three wagons carried thirty jars each. Quite a hefty profit if they all arrived at the buyer’s intact. Claudia found the carts’ design fascinating, the way the beds were constructed to brace the clay jars, each into its own space with limited movement during travel. Damon showed her how to set a jar into its footing and lock the supporting bars into place. “The roads are terrible between here and Rome. How are they protected from the bumpy ride?” Claudia asked. “They ride on a cushion of air,” Damon said. He laid his hand against her back, positioning her to see the space between the bed of the wagon and the support beams. “Slave!” Julius’s sharp warning split the air. Claudia glanced up in time to catch the alarm on Damon’s face. He snatched his hand away and stepped back, his eyes cast at the ground. “Forgive me, Era.”

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She studied the anger in Julius’s expression and his hands knotted into fists at his side. He obviously struggled to control a desire to strike out. A glance Damon’s way revealed a tightness in his jaw as he prepared for the blow. The best way to defuse the situation was to leave. She held her hand out to Damon and he passed her the invoice. She signed for the inspection without reading the document. “Thank you, Damon. I trust you’ll get these safely off.” Disappointed and slightly shaken, she started back to the villa knowing Barba would follow. “That man bears watching, Claudia. He needs a reminder. Familiarities are not allowed.” He’d gotten control of his anger, but his voice reeked of annoyance—annoyance directed at her. Had he expected her to give him free rein? “As you say, Julius, he’s young.” Not wanting to sound defensive, Claudia bit her tongue against accusing him of overstepping his place. “It was a moment’s carelessness—innocent enough. I’m sure your correction will be sufficient.” “He’s not so young he shouldn’t know better. Why would he think it acceptable to lay his hand on you?” Claudia sighed and reminded herself the man was only trying to protect her. “Remember, my mother died long before Damon came. He’s lived in a house without women for six years. I prefer to ignore the incident.” “Very well.” He conceded, but made no attempt to hide his disapproval. “Though I’m inclined to think he’s testing you. A woman alone might find others tempted to do the same. Tell me you’ll call on me if you need help with them.” “Julius, I’ve managed slaves all my life. Damon has shown nothing but respect. His mistake will be handled as I judge appropriate,” she said, then swallowing her pride, added, “If that includes asking for your help, I won’t hesitate.” When they reached the house, she did not invite him in but walked with him to where his mount waited. There, much to Claudia’s relief, they said good-bye.

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Chapter Five

“Stay a while.” The words whispered over Damon’s lips. Had he heard correctly? For three weeks, the hours after her household retired and before he left for the inn had belonged to them. She’d never asked him to stay, though a time or two he thought she might. He withdrew his lips from hers, just far enough to search her eyes for a hint of intention. Did the request come under the category of “stay until I’m done with you” or “you can refuse any or all of my advances”? “If you’re expected at the inn…” There, behind the contentment, a barely hidden vulnerability emerged. She wanted more, for tonight, at least. His heart sang. “Nothing would please me more, Era.” He coaxed her lips open with a gentle brush of his tongue. His earlier kisses had left behind the memory of their lovemaking. Beneath the salty tang of sex another, fresher flavor all her own drew him. He’d never get enough. The heat of her body, stretched beneath him, beckoned him to close the gap they’d silently agreed upon. He longed to cover her, to feel the beating of her heart against his chest, to capture his cock, even buried behind his clothes, between them. His kisses begged for permission. She gave none. He’d offered his mouth, and his mouth was all she’d ever allowed. But tonight she lifted herself to him, back arching. Her hard nipples brushed the fabric of his tunic, drawing a feral growl from deep inside him. Her hand went to the back of his head, fingers tickling, until his growl dissolved into a groan. He bit off the sound along with the need to wrap her in his arms. Seizing a handful of his too-thick hair, Claudia rolled them onto their sides. Her hand to his chest kept distance between them, but not enough she wouldn’t recognize the bulge at his crotch. The hand slid lightly downward and her smile flitted over his lips. “You are insatiable.” She laughed and turned her back to him, snuggling close. Damon gasped as her heat seared the length of his body and was struck dumb when she reached for his arm to clutch between her breasts. Her heart fluttered beneath his palm. She was spent, content for now just to cuddle. His half-hard cock nestled between her sweet cheeks. He welcomed the intimacy and delighted in her contented sighs. His woman. Allowing such thoughts was not wise, perhaps even dangerous. She did nothing to encourage the emotion—clearly the arrangement of mutual pleasure established that first night was all she

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wanted. He yielded to her in all things but this one secret indulgence. In his mind, she belonged to him no less than he belonged to her. He brushed her hair aside and kissed along her shoulder, teasing soft skin, rubbing his beard against her cheek just to feel her shudder in his arms, then buried his face against her neck and breathed. She smelled of lavender. He raised his head enough to trace his tongue along the line of her jaw to her mouth. As she stretched to receive his kiss, she released his arm and grabbed his hip, pulling him tight. Her movement dragged the soft curve of her bottom over his turgid cock, sending delicious shocks along every nerve. Her other hand lay on the sheet in front of them, fingers curled, palm up. “Carissima.” The word escaped on a breath—an impulse he didn’t even try to restrain. Te amo. He wondered, with a little trepidation, what she might say if he spoke his love aloud. She gasped and melted in his arms, surrendered—to him, her slave, her pet. For the moment, he could do anything he wanted to her. A surge of power nearly swept him away. Her simple act of trust evoked a boldness and confidence he’d never experienced. Yet, as much as his body yearned to have her, he had no desire to betray that trust. Taking what she offered, he gave back only what he knew she’d welcome. He moved his mouth to her throat, to the sweet pocket of her collarbone, tracing the vulnerable arteries with his tongue. The silky expanse of naked skin called to his senses, and drawing on his new boldness, he traced patterns with his fingertips across her breasts, wrote love poems on the taut flesh of her belly. “Are you happy with our arrangement, Damon?” The breathy quality in her voice pleased him, but perhaps happy was not the word he’d use. “I’m quite content, Era.” His lips curled against her neck as he recognized the truth in the word he’d chosen. “And you?” “You please me very much.” She sighed. “And Damon, you can’t know how much I appreciate your discretion. This would be so much easier without the need for secrecy, but, yes, I’m happy.” She turned slightly, enough to rest her cheek on his arm. Her next words were barely audible. “I don’t think it possible to go back.” He shouldn’t give too much weight to her whispered confession. People said many things in moments like this. Few came to fruition and, in their circumstances, forever did not exist. To prove it, since she’d spoken of secrecy, he whispered into her ear. “Mania suspects.” Their moment passed. Claudia sighed and removed her cheek from his arm. “Of course Mania suspects. She dresses me every morning. She changes the bed. What has she said to you?” “She worries about me.” He laughed. “Her eyes warn me to be careful. She tries to be so discreet. It’s endearing.” “She’s infatuated.” “I know. That doesn’t worry you?”

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“Mania loves me, but she understands her place and values the trust I’ve given her. She won’t risk the consequences. Don’t let Mania concern you.” Claudia’s confidence was not surprising. Roman house slaves learned discretion early, and the masters’ love lives were never discussed, but Damon was concerned. Mania approached the age when Roman girls married. Slaves didn’t marry, but surely Mania had begun to wonder what her mistress intended for her. “Era, you won’t think of asking me to pair with her?” “The question in your voice makes me think you’d rather not, hmmm. She’s young, Damon, barely fourteen. In a year or two you may think differently.” “No, Era. Please.” Discretion might be a slave’s duty, but he’d watched matters of the heart destroy the best intentions, along with the people involved. “Your choice. I’m not interested in breeding slaves. Mania will be disappointed, though.” Without meaning to, she’d set him straight in his place with her casual statement. Still, he was relieved he’d have a choice in the matter. “I’ll make her understand.” “Let her down easily and perhaps not yet. We wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings, would we?” He hadn’t meant to break the mood so thoroughly. They were back on more familiar ground and, expecting she would soon be done with him, he prepared himself by switching to more mundane topics. “Cassius returned this evening. He has a large order from Nero’s kitchen and he brought a letter for you. I set it on your desk.” “Thank you. But I don’t want to talk about letters and orders right now. I’m curious to know more about you. Tell me, did you do this with my father?” He gasped. “No!” So she wasn’t done with him. He almost wished she were if she meant to take the conversation in this direction. “No, Era. I would have if he’d asked, of course.” Damon never discovered what possessed the old man to bid so exorbitantly that Lydia was compelled to sell him. At twenty, he’d been far from used up. “I don’t think his instinct leaned toward men.” “There were others, though. Men, I mean.” “Are you curious, Era?” he teased. “A little.” She giggled. “More than a little.” Relief flooded him. This he could manage, but first, a distraction. “I have something for you.” He reached into the folds of his tunic, drew out the creamy colored balls and placed them into her hand. “I brought these thinking you might like them.” Claudia scooted up in the bed to get closer to their source of dim light. “Damon, these are beautiful.” She studied the delicate engravings on the pair of egg-sized spheres. “But this is ivory. They’re far too valuable a gift. You should hold onto them for your ransom.” She tried to return the beads to his hand. “How do you come to have these?”

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He wrapped her palm around them, refusing to take them back. “They were a gift from a client, a Persian merchant named Cyrus. He brought them from China. The woman who gave them to him said they came from an even more distant place called Nippon.” “Your client must have thought highly of you to give you such a precious gift.” Damon grinned, remembering the mysterious, dark man who’d purchased much of his time for half a year. “He was in love for a while. He visited often in the months he was in Rome, but left without saying good-bye.” “He was in love with you?” “Yes,” he assured her. “Men love.” Missing her warmth, he moved to join her in the lamplight. He held her close and, leaning over her shoulder, pointed out the intricate patterns carved into the ivory. “With a little more light, the details in the lovers’ faces and clothes come out, but look, see how her head is thrown back in ecstasy.” “Oh, my!” She gasped out a tiny laugh. “Scandalous. And so beautiful. Really, Damon, you should keep them.” “No, Era. I want you to wear them for me.” She let the balls drop, holding them extended by the cord connecting them. “A strange ornament—far too heavy. How is it worn?” “Shall I show you?” he asked, offering her an air of playful mystery as his roaming hands drew inerrably downward. He teased his fingers through the soft hairs of her mons before slipping one between the folds of her sex. She was already moist to his touch. Each stroke through her satiny crevices brought whimpers of pleasure to his ears. When his hand left her to reach for the balls, she moaned. “They’re called Ben Wah.” He rolled the beads over the gem at the apex of her folds. Her hiss of surprise brought a smile to his face. With finger and beads, he drew a wash of liquid pleasure to bathe her secret passage and slid the first ball in place. Claudia arched against him with a sharp cry. “Damon.” The second went in much easier. “You’re so tight,” he whispered. Slowly, he pushed the pair deeper. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to take their place. The end of the string he wrapped around his hand. She rocked, gasping his name. He pulled the string, drawing the heavy balls almost out, then pushed them back in place with his finger, fucking her, again and again, all the while working her swollen gem with his thumb. His other hand teased her nipples. His mouth nibbled against the curve of her shoulder. He let her little cries and moans set the pace. Hips swaying, she stroked his cock with her ass, pumping her swollen sex against his palm, until her entire body stiffened against him and the orgasm took over. She writhed in his arms, out of control, her voice much too loud. Her hand reached up, locked in his hair and yanked him to her. Her mouth covered his and tried to devour him. Her wild cries echoed against the back of his throat.

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Lost, he rode the orgasm with her. Damon knew lust could burn, but it had never threatened to incinerate him. The need to plunge into her warm, wet depths ignited. Thank the gods his clothes restrained him. Still, he had to fight to hold on to rational thought. His hand, pressed tight against her abdomen, absorbed the shocks as her womb convulsed beneath his palm. His cock, throbbing his own approaching climax, strained against the leather of his subligar, trying its best to burrow between the cheeks of her ass. Her thighs quivering against his, the sounds, the taste, the building, building, building—he needed her like air. “Come,” she cried hoarsely. “Come, Damon.” His balls tightened at her command. He gasped, set his teeth to her shoulder, and the seed exploded from him in wave after wave of pounding pleasure. Their bodies entwined, twisted around each other, heaved in unison as they rode each other’s pleasure then collapsed in a puddled heap. For a minute, they simply answered the need to breath. Claudia was the first to recover. She turned in his arms, still shivering with aftershocks, wrapped her arms and legs around him and took possession of him with a kiss. Damon surrendered without a thought. He held her and kissed her until they had to come up for air and continued to hold her while she drowsed. He should leave but couldn’t bear to unwrap himself from her arms. A chill woke him. How long had he been asleep? Damon untangled Claudia’s limbs from his and slid from the bed. She stirred when he bent to kiss her cheek. “Sleep, Era,” he whispered, loath to disturb her any more than his departure from her side already had. “Wear my gift and think of me until tonight.” The Ben Wah would make their presence known every time she moved. She mumbled some vague endearments and curled against the sudden cold. He dragged the blanket over her and went to the desk. The lamp was out. The sky outside her window grayed toward dawn. Cook would be up, stoking a fire in the kitchen which was much too close to his room to risk passing at this hour, and Rufius would be stirring soon. He left the tablets on her desk and turned in the opposite direction when leaving her room. No one would question his rising early for a bath, and a dip in the frigidarium would go a long way toward making up for the lost hours’ sleep.

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Chapter Six

What did I do? The question sat on his tongue like a bitter taste, but the stiffness she wore this morning warned him he dare not ask. Nine days since she’d called him to her room. Nine days, after weeks of having her fill his senses almost daily. Their last hours together played over and over in his mind. He found nothing to explain her withdrawal, and he had no right to demand an explanation. “What is this?” Claudia asked. Her delicate finger pointed to some figures on the order she was trying to decipher. Damon snapped out of his fugue and turned his attention to their work. He leaned over her shoulder to see what confused her, and her scent—lavender and something new, something spicy—drove away his good intentions. To be allowed only this passing taste was torture. Something’s wrong. Damon knew some women ran hot and cold. Living among the girls at Lydia’s, he couldn’t help knowing. Neither could he help knowing Claudia’s disinterest was a ruse. She wanted him. Her barely hidden desire revealed itself in the twitch of a finger, the batting of her eyes, the soft gasp of her breath when they touched and, in spite of Barba’s warning, they couldn’t help touching. This morning, the slightest brush of his fingers over hers made his hair stand on end. The very air between them crackled. The delicate linen of her chiton did nothing to hide her nipples peaked beneath the fabric in spite of the warmth from the brazier burning in the corner of her small office. Every few moments, the memory of those tender buds hardening to his tongue, her body arching toward his mouth, sent tremors of yearning sweeping through him. Why is she determined to resist? He breathed deeply, letting her fragrant perfume fill him. Her head tilted toward the sound. “You haven’t called, Era,” he whispered into her ear. “Why haven’t you called?” The sweet curve of her neck beckoned. The need to touch consumed him. His lips followed the line of her jaw, down to the junction of her shoulder, not touching, but barely. The fine hairs along his path tickled his lips, sending the constant pressure in his groin over the edge into pain. Claudia gasped and pulled away. “Please, Damon,” she said, her voice tight. “Help me. I rely on your self-control.” Vae, what was he doing, trying to seduce her? She had every right to be angry, but didn’t she realize the self-control had its limits?

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Shocked at his own anger, he stepped back, head swimming, and fought to get hold of himself. He didn’t dare move or speak until he inhaled a deep, cleansing breath. “Forgive me, Era,” he said on the exhale. One more breath and he began emptying his mind in the way he’d been taught. The tension in his body, along with some of his arousal, seeped slowly away. When he thought it safe, he glanced her way, and the expression on her face broke his concentration. He’d never seen fear in Claudia’s eyes. “I don’t understand. Are we in trouble?” “No, no, Damon.” She reached for him. A finger brushed his cheek then his lips. He braced himself, reassured for his own sake, but the war being waged behind her panicky gaze spelled trouble nonetheless. “Era, something’s wrong.” Something personal—she’d ask his help in anything related to Dulcia. Barba. Damon was suddenly sure the man had something to do with her unexplained behavior—truly none of his business. Yet he felt threatened. Why? And what was this nagging, dangerous urge to see the man dead? He shoved those thoughts aside to revisit another time. Claudia required a clear mind. He waited for a sign. Any sign she’d allow the comfort he desperately wanted to give. She blinked, and just like that the panic disappeared. A stubborn scowl came to take its place. Her hand drifted to his chest then lower in a long caress. Her eyes followed, leaving Damon feeling naked under her gaze. He shuddered. Hand and eyes parted at his hips. A quick glance dared him to protest, as though he might, while her hand traced the curve of his buttocks and length of his thighs, exploring the shape of him through the tunic. “Era,” he breathed. The surge of lust that rushed him bordered on terror. She shushed him then slipped her hands beneath his clothes, caressing him this time flesh to flesh. With a tug, the subligar fell away, releasing his erection. She slid from the chair to her knees and lifted the tunic aside. Damon’s gaze went to the unlocked door. Surely, there was no one in the house who might wander in without knocking. The momentary distraction left him unprepared when her lips touched him. He sucked air. His hips thrust. His balls tightened. He struggled for control as she stroked him with her tongue. “Mine,” her mouth said, the word itself inaudible. The hot wisp of her breath bathing his cock pushed him closer to the edge. He glanced down at her beautiful, patrician face, her fierce, midnight eyes smoldering only for him, and watched her wrap her lips around him. The air in his lungs exploded in one quick exhale. He wanted to speak. He wanted to beg her to stop or to urge her on, but it was all he could do to breathe. No woman had ever done this for him—the men, yes, the girls at Lydia’s, yes. He averted his eyes, afraid to look at her, afraid he’d find something to remind him of those heated, self-indulgent encounters. He wanted more from her. He needed more. But he couldn’t stop her, and within seconds, couldn’t bring himself to want to stop her. Head thrown back, he closed his eyes and lost himself to her hungry mouth and nimble tongue.

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As he began to swell into his orgasm, Claudia’s fingers dug into his ass, pulling him closer. She took him farther into her throat. He lost control, thrusting even deeper. As climax roared through him, he buried his hands in her hair and plunged into her warm, welcoming mouth with each spasm. She opened to him, taking all he needed to give. When, at last, he came to his senses, he snatched his hands away. With a soft moan, she released him, showered tiny kisses on his receding member then expertly replaced his clothing. Damon fell to his knees and pulled her into his arms. Boldly capturing her mouth with his, he gave in to his need to touch her, letting his hands wander over her: face, neck, back, arms, breasts. For a moment, she melted into his caresses, but soon was tugging at him to release her. Damon drew away, confused. “I think today would be a good day for you to inspect the oil press,” she said. Rejection stabbed his gut. His mind froze on a single thought: if she was regretting, his value mattered little. He was easily cast aside. Stunned and stinging, he tucked all other emotion away. “Of course, Era.” He started to get up, but she stopped him. “Damon.” The pain in her eyes mirrored his confusion. “I need to get some distance between us for a few hours. Come to my room tonight.” Her face was flushed. He’d made a mess of her hair. He reached up to smooth it for her then leaned in to brush his lips over her eyelids and mouth. His tongue reached out to lick the last evidence of him from her lips. Without a word, he got up, made his slight bow, and started to leave. A glance back into the room before he closed the door found her sitting with her head buried in her arms on the desk, her body trembling. Reflex drew him to her, but he thought better of it. He wasn’t quite ready to find out if she’d thank him or despise him for noticing.

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Chapter Seven

Nine days since Titus’s letter came—nine maddening, desperate days of trying to learn to live without him, knowing, if she could not control herself, she’d have no choice but to send Damon away. Claudia rested her head against the sash and groaned aloud. This morning she’d lost her mind. This evening she’d gone mad with frustration, drawn blood with teeth and nails. She’d been cruel and given him no reason to forgive her. Gods, she needed him to forgive her. Damon left hours ago and her body still shuddered at the memory of his touch. How would she live without that touch? The intensity of her feelings frightened her. She had experience with lust. What she had with Marcus was lust, but his absences never left her empty like this. Time might make her want him. Distance might make her long to see his face, to feel his hands on her, his cock filling her. This constant yearning Damon inspired was not the same. She ached for him. Her body screamed for him to fill her, stretch her, pound her. She wanted to wrap herself around him and never let go. How long had she been sitting in her window staring at the gate, awaiting his return? Half the night, by the moon’s telling. Just as she stood to stretch, Damon entered the courtyard. She watched him lead Echo toward the stable, then, slipping her dark blue mantle over her robe, left her room. Silently, she crept down the servants’ corridor, through the kitchen, down the short hall leading to his chamber. The house was dark. No one else stirred. His room was depressingly bare, a place to lay his head and little else—a pallet, a small brazier set on the floor, cold now, and a chair beside a tiny desk beneath one small window opening onto the peristyle. Careful to avoid casting a shadow that might be seen from the other wing, she made herself comfortable in the chair and waited. Damon entered a few moments later. She whispered his name. He stopped dead in the open doorway, no more than a silhouette against the night, and his head turned toward the sound of her voice. He shut and latched the door behind him then walked to the window and closed the shutters tightly. Claudia abandoned the chair. She stood motionless in the darkness, unsure of her welcome. “Damon.” Her voice wouldn’t rise above a breathy whisper. “I need…” The rest of her words were swallowed by Damon’s mouth. Her breath caught. Her lips parted. He groaned and invaded her with his tongue. Nothing in Claudia’s experience had prepared her for the instant

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rush of longing his urgent probing brought. A kiss had done this to her, sent her mind to oblivion and centered her whole being on the man encircling her in his arms. The need to hold him, to feel their bodies meld, to have him buried in her depths, consumed her. Her sex flooded in rhythmic waves. Its fluids trickled down her thighs. A flick of his hand and her mantle puddled to the floor. A single yank and her robe followed. A swipe and he’d freed her hair to fall over her back where the curls swept her hips and buttocks and its tickling drove her groin to grind against him. He grunted into her mouth. His fingers tangled in her hair at the nape of her neck and crushed her into the kiss. His other hand traveled roughly from breast to hip to ass, lifted her off her feet and pressed her hard against his rigid cock. Two steps took them across the tiny room. As he laid her on his narrow pallet, she released his belt, pulled the tunic over his head and tossed them aside. He plunged two fingers into her, his thumb sliding through the swollen folds of her sex. She tore the subligar away. His naked shadow knelt between her legs. The absence of light covered her like a blanket. With her useless eyes shut tight against the darkness, she let her hungry hands at last seek their fill. Sleek, perfect muscles quivered beneath her fingers. Nipples tightened. Hair stood on end. The rise and fall of his chest quickened in response to her exploring fingers. The hard muscles of his abdomen rippled to her touch. His ass was like stone wrapped in silk, his thighs smooth and strong. She pressed her palm against his erection, wrapping her hand around him, loving how the hot flesh glided over its solid length. Crossing her ankles behind his back, she raised her hips and guided him toward her sopping entrance. Damon jerked and groaned, “Era.” Her feet pulled him closer until the head of his cock slipped past the tight muscle. He moaned, “Gods.” His hands slid beneath her. He lifted her hips and filled her for the first time. “Claudia,” he breathed. The unused muscles of her vagina yielded slowly, the stretching sensation creating molten waves that radiated from their source. Claudia heard her own voice mewling softly as from a distance. Damon shifted his hips, pressing deeper still until he was seated against her. She cried out. One of his hands slipped behind her shoulders. He pulled her onto his lap and into his arms. Tender kisses found first one closed eyelid then the other. He kissed her brow, her nose, settling against her mouth with a sigh that made her flesh tingle. His tongue coaxed her lips until they parted then pushed its way past to gently probe every crevice. The kiss washed over her. She melted into the taste— grapes. He likes his wine sweet. Why hadn’t she known that? His scent—he smelled of smoke and sweat and, ever so slightly, horse. His scent, his taste, his kiss, his body melded to her. For a moment, she couldn’t move or breathe for the sensation of his mouth and his cock owning her, then she gave herself over to him.

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He rocked his hips, sliding through her wetness. She gasped. Her breath quickened. Every nerve turned its attention to the welcome fullness between her legs. Damon adjusted his knees for leverage. Tangling his fingers in the thick curls at her nape, he tugged her head back, forcing her body to arch toward him. He seized her breast with his mouth and drove his hips forward, burying himself inside her. She moaned his name, convulsing around him. He pulled out and thrust again, harder. He filled her with long, deliberate strokes, driving breathless shivers through her. Pleasure bordered on pain. She grabbed his shoulders and clung to him while meeting his thrusts as he plunged and withdrew, plunged and withdrew. A shimmer of sensation began in her limbs and raced through her to where they joined. Stars burst behind her eyelids. Every muscle clenched. Her body quaked and quaked again. Each gasping breath carried a soft cry as the orgasm overwhelmed her. He held her safe while she writhed in his arms, mindless, yet so aware of the man she felt him swell inside her. Damon’s mouth lost her breast. He lowered her gently to his pallet, wrapping her in his arms, their bodies still joined. “Damon, please…” “Not yet.” He thrust again, deep and hard. His mouth found hers. His fingers twined themselves in her hair and he began to move, drawing out, slowly, thrusting forward, hard. Sweat-slick flesh gliding. Unexpectedly, a second orgasm overtook her in a sudden, nerve-shattering explosion. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. The muscles corded in his neck, and his cock pulsed within her as his hot fluids erupted against her womb. She hissed, “Yes!” He grunted aloud and thrust again. Every spasm coursed through her. Ecstasy became agony. She threw her will into making his pleasure last, milking him with her own spasms. He thrust twice more and collapsed, his weight blanketing her body. His body shuddered and jerked as her sex continued to clutch at him in delicious bursts until her spasms tapered to sporadic trembling and her mind began to accept it was over. While he recovered, she peppered his face, neck and shoulders with hot, breathy kisses. Later, Claudia lay against his chest, lulled by its shallow rise and fall that told her he was still awake. She clung to him in the dark. Tears threatened, but she held back, not clear if these were tears of happiness, fear or anger, not wanting to alert him, yet not wanting to leave. “You’re cold.” She must have shivered. “Let me light the fire.” He rolled away, leaving a chill behind. She heard him strike the flint, and a spark fell in the darkness. A moment later, bright tongues licked at the tinder in the brazier then burst into flame. Damon appeared in the golden light, sitting back on his heels, waiting for the coals to catch.

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Her eyes devoured him, memorizing every inch. He’s so beautiful. How would she bear it when he left? Nine days since the letter came from Titus. She must answer soon, but every day she managed to put off her reply was another precious day of freedom, another day to try to quell her anger and contemplate just how to word her refusal. She never dreamed her twenty-three year old son might humiliate her by suggesting she marry. And Barba, of all the men he might have chosen. No one could force her to marry again, but her son had the right to demand she submit to a guardian if not to a husband. Marcus had not required it. Her husband offered that last respect, trusting her judgment. Her father, likewise, left her free. Did Titus disagree? Barba’s offer made her furious. Titus’s squadron was in Alexandria. His letter took six weeks to get to her. Which meant Barba had made his offer very soon after she moved to Sabina, without ever consulting her, without so much as a hint. Would Titus insist? Waiting to find out was not an option. Six weeks for her refusal to reach him in Alexandria, six weeks for him to return to put his mother in her place; that was all the time they had left. How she regretted the days wasted avoiding Damon’s arms. She knew what must be done to protect him, and she knew, with her whole being that, when she did it, he would leave and she’d never see him again. Slave or free, lust or love, Damon must not be here when Titus came. Fire banked, Damon returned to her side. A red glow from the brazier cast his face in shadow as he laid himself beside her. She threw thoughts of obligation and betrayal aside for a while and raised herself onto her elbow to look down at him. The time to face losing him would come soon, but for now, he was here and still belonged to her. Her fingers traced the sculpted muscles of his chest and abdomen. “Look how your flesh quivers to my touch,” she said once the heat of anger passed. “You are truly beautiful to look at, Damon.” Her thumbs circled his nipples, learning how they tightened and swelled, not unlike hers when he did the same. His gasp told her his pleasure was also not unlike hers. “There is a statue on the Quirinal Hill,” she whispered. “A young Gaul, wounded, probably dying. Sometimes, in moments like these when your perfect control slips, I see his agony reflected in your face. What is this pain you’re showing me, Damon?” Damon ran his finger over her lips. “Claudia…” “No!” What possessed her to ask such a thing? In a panic, she quickly placed her hand over his mouth. “No, Damon, don’t speak. I don’t want to know.”

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He gripped her wrist gently, heaving her onto her back as he pulled the hand away. Leaning close, he pinned her body to the pallet. His eyes burned. “Claudia,” he whispered. “It’s unwise and impossible and will be the death of me, but I love you. From the moment you came, from the moment you respected me with a thank you for my work, from the moment I realized the woman you are, my love for you has grown. If I die from loving you, I will die a happy man.” If she were honest with herself, she’d admit to knowing from the start. He’s so young. “Love, after so long, Damon? Love is a girl’s dream. I’ve long since forgotten the hope of hearing those words.” Just words. Why did they thrill her so? “Is this something else you can teach me, my beautiful Eros?” “Please, Carissima. Let me love you.” The emptiness lifted. For a moment, she believed, and then reality descended like a blow.

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Chapter Eight

Do I look younger? Claudia lingered in front of the glass to examine her reflection, trying to see what Mania saw. Her face did have a fresh glow about it and wore a smile that would not be tamed. Obviously, Damon was good for her. She certainly felt younger. Why not wear your hair down since he likes it that way? Give the servants something new to talk about. Claudia laughed. If not for all the hard work Mania put into harnessing the mass of curls this morning, she might give the thought serious consideration. This is foolish. It’s the glass. With one last look, she set the mirror aside. The dark glass flatters me. Still, the smile refused every attempt at control. She slipped from her room and made her way down the long hall toward the front of the house. She was late this morning. The bath had been too delicious to leave. Hopefully good news awaited her. How hard could it be to find an escort for a trip to Rome? How annoying she needed one, but she dared push propriety only so far. Surely, Rufius would find someone leaving soon and willing to take her along—especially now, with the last of the harvest put up and weeks before spring pruning began. She had no real wish to hurry. Her response to Titus only two weeks old, he couldn’t appear much before the games began in May, but the window of opportunity for finding a chaperon was slim. No one would question her reason for travelling. After all, she hadn’t seen her daughter in half a year. They’d have a few days to visit and she’d take care of her business with the lawyer at the same time. When Claudia entered the atrium, Damon already waited, his back resting against the wall beside the door to her office. Mania was with him, passing through on her way to the laundry, judging by the soiled linens she still carried in her arms. Claudia made a mental note to talk to her about using the servants’ hall. She thought nothing of the two standing in the public hall having a conversation until Mania covered her mouth to giggle into her hand. Damon returned the laugh and a pang of jealousy froze Claudia in her path halfway across the open room. Oh, this will not do. This will not do at all. She gave herself a mental shake. Damon made it perfectly clear he had no interest in Mania and Claudia had no right to be jealous even if he did. In a matter of weeks, Damon would be gone, and she would not waste their precious time together on anger and suspicion. The fear subsided the moment Damon glanced her way. A smile sprang to his face. Memories of the night shivered through her. “Good morning, Era,” he said and reached to open the door for her.

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Claudia returned the smile but sobered at the wary expression Mania turned her way. The little one was probably right. She should be more careful of her reaction to Damon where others might see. She shooed Mania toward the servants’ passage with a gesture then brushed past Damon into her office. His scent mingled with the sweet early morning air. His whispered, “Beautiful Claudia,” drove all concern from her mind. She waited until he’d pulled the door shut before reaching for him. Their lips brushed. She inhaled deeply, committing his scent to memory, and whispered against his mouth. “Good morning.” His hand brushed her cheek, bathing her in tenderness as he welcomed her with a gentle kiss. They parted quickly. “This came for you this morning,” he said. The ease with which he slipped from passion to business no longer disarmed her. She found it amusing. Taking the tablet from his hand, she shifted her own focus to the matters at hand, then circled the desk to her chair. “What were you and Mania talking about?” In spite of her conviction, she had to admit more than curiosity fueled her question. “The appropriateness of carrying soiled linen through the public rooms,” he said with a grin. “She found that amusing?” Damon grew serious. “No, what amused her was how much I sounded like Rufius.” Claudia chuckled, relieved. “You should watch that, Damon. One Rufius is about all this household can bear.” A glance at the sealed tablet and her smile dissipated. She recognized the seal. What does Antonius want now? Without a doubt, nothing she cared to deal with this morning. If these letters didn’t cease, she’d soon grow to hate the mail. She broke the seal but set the tablet down rather than face her father-in-law’s demands just yet. Her fingers tapped the wooden surface as she braced herself for more bad tidings. “What is it?” Damon asked. “A letter from Crassus,” she sighed and flipped the leaf over to reveal the contents. A brief perusal and the dread made itself at home in her stomach. “The Crassii believe my manager in Ostia is misrepresenting the ships’ manifests.” She reached up, pulled a stack of tablets from the shelf and began flipping through them. “I don’t understand. Marcus trusted the man.” “Your husband was there to oversee, Era.” “I have an agent to oversee. Antonius recommended him.” Her hands shook as she opened each tablet and ran her eyes over the meticulous writing. “Damon, I don’t find any mention of anything suspicious in his reports.” “He took his suspicions to Crassus, then.”

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Claudia collapsed into her chair. “Antonius Crassus has every right to question my handling of his son’s share of the family business.” “Are those the auditor’s reports?” Damon asked, pointing to a second stack of tablets on the shelf. “May I look?” “They’re complicated, Damon.” She reached for the stack and handed it to him. “They are numbers, Era. Besides, I know something of the shipping business. I meant to offer sooner, but you seemed reluctant to ask for help.” He began paging through the reports. “I was never at liberty to discuss Crassii business. These ships are Titus’s inheritance. I hold them only until he comes of age. His grandfather gives me little control.” “So you own them, but the Crassii run them. It’s a common arrangement, but these contracts are written as though your agent were your own. If he were truly yours, he would have come to you first.” “No doubt a man would expect so, but I’m not surprised he took this to the Crassii. Antonius is his patron. He convinced me hiring someone loyal to the family would be the best way to protect Titus’s interest. You’re familiar with these contracts?” “Yes, quite,” Damon said. He ran his eyes down the lengthy document. “My father was a ship-owner. When I was fifteen, he went down with three of his ships off the Malabar Coast. This clause,” he turned the tablet so she could read where he pointed, “put me where I am today.” Graecus. Years ago, a colleague of Marcus put everything he had into a fleet of ships to run the India route. He’d gambled and lost. When had it happened? Titus was young at the time. “You were sold for his debts.” “Yes, I and everything he owned were just enough to leave my mother, brother and sister destitute but free.” As a woman, Claudia never understood how a man could put his family at risk with such a venture. She had no right to judge, however. Her family was wealthy. Her husband’s family was wealthy. A man who wanted more for his children might find himself willing to place their futures in the hands of some fickle god. “You were born a citizen. Where?” “Ephesus.” Too many coincidences. She’d met Graecus several times. She searched Damon’s face for any hint of the man, but it was so long ago. “Please, Era, there’s no reason to discuss this, is there? These things happen. I can’t regret what happened to me. My family needed their status to survive.” One simple question would provide the answer she needed, but Damon’s reluctance stopped her. She’d find her answer by other means. Claudia smiled. “Is there no end to new things to learn about you, Damon? Do you know where your family is?”

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“No, but I believe they’re fine. My younger brother was perfectly capable.” “Good.” Little doubt remained what answer she would find. This was good news, very good news. She waved at the stack of tablets on her desk. “Will you help me with this?”

Two hours later, Claudia sighed and rose from her seat. “It seems a trip to Ostia is in order. Get Rufius.” Her need for an escort had suddenly grown urgent. A few moments later, Damon returned with the House Steward in tow. “Did you find someone for me, Rufius?” “Yes, Era. Julius Barba leaves for the city in three days. He would welcome your company.” Barba again. Would she never be rid of the man? After making her anger over his deception clear, she found his persistent attention insulting. “Damon will be travelling with me. I’d prefer other arrangements.” The old man’s face puckered with concern as he glanced Damon’s way. “Perhaps, if I had more time… Forgive me, Era, but is that wise?” Her eyes met Damon’s over the desk. Neither was much surprised at Rufius’s question. “Perhaps not wise but necessary. Damon, will you ask at the inn tonight? Barba’s presence will make the trip difficult.” “Of course, Era. May I ask? Has the man offended you?” Everything about the man offended her. “No matter. We have little choice, but please, try to find someone else. The Crassii will insist on firing my manager. We need to handle this quickly, or they’ll install another of their own men and I’ll lose what little control I have.”

“The evidence is irrefutable, Claudia.” Cornelius Scipio leaned back in his chair, brought his tented fingers to his lips and studied Claudia from beneath his bushy gray brow. “The next step is yours.” “I’m open to advice, Cornelius. You’re the lawyer and my family’s oldest friend. What do you suggest I do?” His lips curled behind his fingers. He sat up, straight-backed, spry for a man his age. Cornelius had been her family’s lawyer for forty years, and his father before him. Claudia trusted the man with her life. “The auditor’s involvement complicates matters. Filing suit would be risky. You have every right to try to recoup what you’ve lost, but little control once the consul gets hold of this information. He could hold Antonius Crassus partially liable since he vouched for the man.” “You know I can’t do that, Cornelius.” “Well, then, I suggest you have both men held and present the evidence to the Crassii. Everything’s in order. Let them make the decision.” “I have to agree that seems the smarter way to handle this. Will you prepare the documents to go with the evidence? I’d like to arrange to have them delivered to the magistrate and my husband’s family before

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leaving. Damon is at your disposal for the next day or so. I’m not sure how much longer we will be in Rome.” “It won’t take long. Your man did an excellent job with this, Claudia. Do you know how valuable an asset you have in him?” “I do.” Claudia couldn’t help but feel her pending loss. “Speaking of Damon…”

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Chapter Nine

Sunshine greeted Claudia as she stepped from beneath the trees. She let her palla fall to her elbows, welcoming the warmth after the long winter’s chill, but dreading the spring it foretold. Her time with Damon passed along with the season and every new day reminded her she’d yet to do what must be done to keep him safe. Every evening she promised herself she’d tell him in the morning, and every morning convinced herself there was still time. She needed him, in more ways than one. How would they get through a season without him? How would she get through the nights? Impatient of every moment away from him, she was loath to leave him in the orchard where they’d spent the morning organizing the workers for the spring pruning. But sometimes one ran out of reasons to linger, especially when other work waited. Spring brought more responsibilities than the orchards. Rufius was surely wondering what kept her. They were to meet this morning to plan the garden. With a sigh, she rounded the stable and noticed a strange horse tethered in front. A visitor? Not Barba. He’d avoided her since their return from Rome last month. And judging by its dust-covered coat, this animal had traveled some distance. Curious, she picked up her pace, heading toward the main entrance rather than the kitchen as she’d intended. The visitor waited in the atrium. A young man, wearing the red tunic and body armor of a legionnaire, reclined on a couch on the far side of the room, his face hidden beneath his arm. She knew him immediately. Her heart dropped. “Titus!” Oh, why had she waited? But only six weeks had passed since she’d returned his letter. At the sound of her voice, her son leaped to his feet and crossed the open room wearing his most brilliant smile. “Mater!” He greeted her with a hug and firm kiss to the cheek. “You look wonderful. The country agrees with you.” In spite of her worry, Claudia couldn’t deny her pleasure at seeing him. He’d been in Africa since Marcus’s funeral. She returned the hug with affection. “Oh, Titus, look at you,” she said, stepping back to get a better view of the man he’d become. “How you’ve grown. And what’s this?” Several new silver rings hung from his leather vest. “You’ve been promoted.” He smiled down at her with Marcus’s face. “I thought you’d be angry with me.”

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“I am,” she said, but the sight of him eased her mind. This was her son. What reason had she given him that he would seek to rob her of what she valued most? Only Damon, and Titus knew nothing of Damon yet. “We’ll talk of that later. You must be tired. Sit. Rufius will bring lunch. How long can you stay?” “Two days, two nights—I report back to my unit at the end of the week.” Two days—surely Damon could avoid Titus for two days. “What are you doing here? I didn’t expect you for at least another month.” “I take it your expecting me means you’re refusing Barba’s offer. My squadron was dispatched to Misenum before your answer arrived.” “Another topic on the agenda for later. Have you spoken to him?” “No. I left Anzia yesterday and rode from Rome this morning. Portia sends her love.” “She told you of our visit.” Of course she had, and likely saved Claudia the need to explain the happenings of last month. Anzia, however, was Crassii territory, and she had yet to know what Antonius had to say of the incident. “How is your grandfather?” “Angry, demanding, otherwise well—this conversation should also wait until later.” Angry did not surprise Claudia in the least. Titus visited the baths while she arranged lunch and had a guest room readied for her son. She joined him at the table but ate little while the unspoken questions between them pressed at her. An urgent need to find Damon and warn him kept her from enjoying what should have been a welcome visit. But surely Damon heard by now that Titus had arrived. Caution would keep him away. Once Titus had eaten and refreshed himself after the long ride, he suggested a walk. They strolled through the youngest part of the orchard without speaking for a while. The trees here cast little shade, but a breeze cooled the heat of the afternoon sun and only birdsong and an occasional rustle among the branches disturbed the silence. When Titus finally spoke, he began at the crux of the matter. “My grandfather tells me I should appoint a guardian for you if you will not take a husband.” Claudia winced. Even expected, the words cut. “Should? And what do you think, Titus?” “I think I’m placed in an unenviable position.” He was right, of course. Claudia knew the pressure Antonius could bring to bear. “I’ll do my best to ease his mind, Mater, but if he insists… You know I can’t defy his wishes. He’s angry, and how can I blame him? You had his man arrested.” “The man was stealing, Titus. Not just from you. His thievery might have cost us the ships.” “What proof?” “Antonius received the report from Scipio. My secretary took great care to confirm the evidence he found.” Oh, gods, why did she mention Damon’s role? “You trust a slave in these matters?”

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“Yes, I trust him. My father trusted him. We went over everything with the lawyer and he agrees.” “What is the Greek’s name? Damon? Are you sleeping with him?” Her heart jumped in her chest. For all her worrying, she never considered he might confront her in this manner. How could he know? She did her best to keep her face impassive while searching her memory for any lapse that might have made its way back to him. There was none. She was sure there was none. As she was sure the betrayal did not come from within her household. “Why would you ask such a thing, fili?” Titus stared at her, arms crossed over his chest, any resemblance to his father gone. At the moment, he was all Antonius. “You’re right. It’s none of my business and I resent being forced to question you. Julius Barba took these concerns to my grandfather when you returned from Rome. Apparently something he saw raised suspicion.” “Barba again. What did he see?” Oh, how she hated the man. What had he seen? She and Damon had barely spoken outside the lawyer’s presence in all the time they were in Rome. “Damon treats me with friendship and respect. I return the same, along with my trust. Does that offend the man? Is he jealous of a slave?” She needed to calm herself or lose what little dignity she had left. “Why is Barba taking his concerns to Anzio? I thought he was your man?” “As did I.” At least Titus recognized the underhandedness of Barba’s action. “He wasn’t pleased when I waited so long to merely suggest you entertain his proposal. I can stand up to Barba, but what do you suggest I do if my grandfather takes up his cause?” “You can tell Antonius he has no reason to trust a man who switches loyalties for his own purposes.” Antonius was not a likable man with his gruff ways and lack of faith simply because she was a woman, but she’d trusted him. The fact he’d even give Barba audience destroyed what little affection she had left for him. “You can tell your grandfather the law is on my side. I’ve done my part for Rome. He can’t force me into marriage. You can remind him I gave my youth to his family, happily, and now respectfully decline his interference.” “Certainly you don’t expect me to berate him.” She sighed. Surely Titus had read the answer to his question in her reaction. “No, of course not. What does he want, Titus? The ships? They are yours the moment you say you’re ready. Take them. Turn them over to him if you want.” She would happily be rid of those damnable ships if that was what it took to get her in-laws to leave her in peace. “What is his grievance against me?” “I can’t speak for the Crassii, Mater. You haven’t answered my question.” She looked him in the eyes, daring him to ask again. “Are you sleeping with the Greek?” The answer was clear enough, yet he stood there waiting for her to voice it. “We do very little sleeping, fili.”

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“A slave.” His voice was barely audible. His face betrayed nothing. For a second, Claudia thought they might discuss this rationally, then his eyes caught fire. He threw his arms out and shouted. “Absit, Mater, what are you thinking? If this becomes common gossip, I’m ruined.” Unaccountably, his rage calmed her. “Your life will be in Rome,” she said. This was the price of her love. Hers to pay, not his. “What does Rome care about one old woman in the country?” “Rome cares about every little indiscretion and her memory is long. Is this how you honor your family? My father?” Her body jerked at the springing of that trap. “No,” she whispered. She’d never be rid of them. Her husband’s family would control her to the grave. For honor’s sake. “What will you do?” “What do you think? You leave me few options.” With her heart pounding the way it was, keeping her voice steady was impossible. “You will not do murder, Titus. Until I am dead, you have no right to touch what is mine.” Her son would not go so far. His hard expression hinted she might be wrong. Few would blame him for killing a slave under these circumstances. Hadn’t she considered the possibility from the start? “What do you suggest?” he asked. “Come back to Rome. Portia and Gaius will be happy to have you.” And her son-in-law more than happy to oversee her. “No.” Her voice quavered. Damon was lost to her. She would not give up both her love and her home. Surely Titus wouldn’t demand so much. “Let me sell him, then.” “No. You’ll never get his worth.” Why had she waited? She needed to find Damon. She needed the document. She needed a witness. “I’ll take care of this, Titus. It’s over.” “So you say. Hear me, Mater. I will not leave you with him to debase yourself. If he is still here in two days, I’ll see him a eunuch. These are your choices. Decide.” He turned his back and stormed away. Claudia went in search of Damon.

He was not in the orchard where she’d left him earlier, and none of the workers were able to tell her where to look. The calm she’d held in her slippery grip began to dissolve. She left word with the foreman to tell Damon he should go immediately to the inn. They’d find a witness there, never mind the damage entering the inn would cost her already shattered reputation.

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Doing her best to keep panic at bay, she hurried back to the house to retrieve the document from her office. As she came from beneath the trees, the sound of Mania screaming assaulted her—beneath the screams, the crack of a whip. She ran. Titus had dragged Damon into the atrium. Damon crouched near the floor, his arms over his head, his back exposed and striped with bloody welts. The whip cracked. Another bloody stripe appeared. “Titus! Stop!” she screamed, racing toward him. The fury his face revealed frightened her. She grabbed his arm. “Stop! Please, stop!” He backhanded her. She fell to the floor, but the beating stopped. Damon crawled to her, his whole body trembling, his eye blackened. Blood ran down his arm as he reached for her. Why had she waited? “Damon, I’m so sorry.” She took his arm and, tears streaming, glared defiantly at Titus, daring him to protest as they helped each other to their feet. His face was a rictus of rage, but a glimmer of regret darkened his eyes. “Titus, you shame yourself.” Titus was not ready to give up his anger. “I shame myself, Mater? I?” He tossed the whip aside and came at Damon with his fists. She stepped between them.

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Chapter Ten

Titus stopped, hands fisted at his sides, with a look on his face that made Damon think he might kill her to get to him. “Era, please.” His training took over. He shoved the pain to the back of his mind and tried to step in front of her, to take her place in harm’s way. “Damon, stop!” She grabbed his arm. No. He could do this. At Lydia’s, protecting the women with his body had been part of his job. He reached for her with his free arm. His back ignited. “Damon!” One glance at the panic in her eyes forced him to remember Titus was no irate client. He was but one act away from master. “Please, I know my son.” The words came out a whispered plea. Every bit of self-control he possessed went into not moving her aside. In that moment, Damon understood. Whatever fear Claudia felt was not for herself. She believed in her son’s mercy, for both of them. Having so recently experienced that mercy, Damon did not, but he nodded to acknowledge her decision and backed away. Her hand remained locked on his arm. From the corner of his eye, he saw Titus turn away in disgust. He paced, stopping now and then to glare over his shoulder in their direction. Damon straightened and lowered his head in submission. Blood ran down his back and one arm in trickling rivulets. The pain was manageable at the moment, but experience told him that would not be the case in a few hours. He watched Titus from beneath his brow, waiting for any hint the man might act again on his rage. For her sake, he would avoid any movement that might be taken as a challenge. Her hand on his arm was challenge enough. But if Titus moved with intent, Damon would forget propriety and do what he must to protect her. Claudia trembled, but her solid stance said not from fear. She seemed to take strength from holding him. “Titus, calm yourself then come to my office.” Her voice was strong and held authority in spite of the tears and the quiver he felt through her tight grip. Still, when she turned her back to her son, Damon hesitated to follow.

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In that moment’s hesitation, he saw Titus stop, and the rage transform into uncertainty. Self-doubt lasted only long enough for him to notice Damon watching. The fury returned, now tempered with restraint. Satisfied Titus would not move against his mother, Damon followed Claudia across the atrium to her door. As they passed the little maid standing red-faced and terrified against the wall, Claudia said calmly, “Mania, bring warm water and clean cloths.” The girl ran to obey. Claudia’s touch held him together until the door closed behind them. Out of site, with only the woman he loved to see, all the control he’d managed to maintain dissolved and he began to shake. She led him to the chair just in time. His legs gave way as he dropped to the seat. His mind collapsed soon after. It took him a few seconds to realize she knelt at his feet, sobbing. He tried to rise. “Era, you should sit.” “Don’t.” Her hands on his knees held him. “Damon, don’t.” She laid her head against his chest, her shoulders heaving. Her tears drenched his naked skin. Mind as numb as his body, he felt her pain like his own, throbbing at him from a distance. He ran his fingers through her hair, soothing her and himself without words. None would help. None were necessary. Holding her was all that made sense now. One way or another, their time was over. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “This is my fault.” “No.” He wouldn’t let her blame herself. Someone betrayed them. Surely no one here. With the possible exception of Mania, none in Claudia’s household had ever met her son. The door opened and a teary-eyed Mania stumbled into the room, unmindful of the water splashing down her chiton from the basin she balanced in one arm. She set the bowl on the desk and knelt beside Claudia, wrapping her arms around her. The look on the girl’s face confirmed what Damon already believed. Mania had no part in this. Titus knew of the affair before he arrived. Mania’s presence calmed Claudia. She got her tears under control and stood. Taking the cloths from Mania’s hand, she wet them and gestured Damon to lean over the desk. “It was Barba,” she said. “He went to Crassus.” The news didn’t surprise Damon. He rested his arms on the desk and his head on his arms. He tried to clear his mind, but the nerves in his back flared to life with every gentle touch. “I think Titus might have ignored the whole affair, but Antonius is pressuring him. He can’t defy his grandfather. This isn’t like him. He’ll get his anger under control.” Did she defend him? The man who held his life and her freedom in his hands? Damon hoped the son she knew still existed.

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“What will happen to you?” He didn’t want to think about what would happen to him. At best, he’d be sold. No matter what happened, he’d never regret the months they had together. Claudia, on the other hand, had so much to lose. What value had freedom when it could be snatched away on a whim? “Will you be forced to marry?” His voice was tight with pain and emotion. “I will not be forced. Antonius has no right, and Titus won’t. I will have a guardian, I suppose. Perhaps I can have some say in the choice. Damon, I…” Titus chose that moment to walk in without knocking. “Isn’t this a pretty picture,” he said. “Why are you doing that? Let Mania take care of him.” Claudia gave no indication she’d even heard. She draped a clean cloth over Damon’s back and dropped the bloody rag into what was left of the water. Again, she placed herself between him and her son. “Titus, you had no right.” “Mater, I had no choice.” His tightly controlled anger seeped out in his sarcasm. “Must we speak in front of him?” “Yes. You can’t hold him accountable for what I demand of him, Titus. The law will stand by him.” “Era!” He would not let her take the blame for what they’d done together. He sat up, his back screaming in protest. “I understood—” “Damon, don’t say anything.” She circled the desk to reach behind a stack of tablets on the shelf and pulled out a parchment scroll. Her sad gaze remained locked with his as she unrolled the document and laid it on the desk for both men to read. “What is this?” Titus asked. “His manumission. I’m so sorry, Damon. I should have done this weeks ago.” Had he heard correctly? Damon’s gaze fell to the document. The words were a blur. Only his name stood out clearly—the name stolen from him eleven years ago. Claudia leaned over the desk and grasped his arm. “Free man, Damon, not freed. You more than paid your debt in Ostia. Your citizenship is restored.” “Era,” Damon whispered. His mind groped for understanding. “What does this…” “Claudia,” she corrected. “My name is Claudia. Be free, Damon Graecus, son of Ianos Graecus.” She released his arm. He studied the spot where her hand had been. Something about its absence held significance. “Do you remember his father, Titus?” Her words struck him. She knew his father’s name. “You were eight the last time he visited, just before he was lost at sea.” “I remember Ianos.” The shock Damon heard in Titus’s voice almost matched his own. He had yet to wrap his mind around the document set before him, now this. He lifted his gaze to search her face. “You knew my father?”

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“Yes, Damon,” she whispered. What he found was great sorrow. “I suspected the moment you spoke of him and had my suspicions confirmed in Ostia before I spoke with the lawyer. Your father was Marcus’s friend. He spoke often of his sons. My husband never told me what happened to Ianos’s family. Perhaps he never thought to find out.” “You realize this changes nothing, Mater.” A new calm underlay Titus’s voice. “You understand. What’s done is done.” Perhaps a bit of regret. Claudia’s gaze remained locked with Damon’s. Tears welled in her eyes and threatened to spill. “It changes everything,” she whispered.

Damon’s eyes went distant. All the color drained from his face. “Titus, leave us.” Claudia swept around the desk, hoping to catch him if he fell. “Mater, we need…” “Please, Titus.” She dropped to her knees at Damon’s side and lifted her hand to his cheek. His skin was cold to the touch. “Damon, lay your head down. Titus, please. We’ll discuss this later.” When he was gone, Claudia squeezed the bloody water from the cloth and laid it across Damon’s neck. She was about to call for Mania when the little maid entered the room, carrying fresh supplies. Claudia tended to Damon’s back, carefully cleaning each angry stripe while he lay across her desk without speaking. His silent tremors frightened her. Why didn’t he say something? Was his shock worse than she’d thought? “Damon, can you hear me?” “Yes, Era.” She didn’t correct him. Emotions she couldn’t name and didn’t trust welled from deep inside and spilled over her cheeks. “This is my fault.” She used her forearm to brush at the tears. She had no right to tears. “I don’t know how to say I’m sorry.” “Don’t, Era.” He was right. There was no apology. She picked up a vial of soothing oils Mania had thought to fetch and poured a little in her unsteady hands. Poised over his back, she hesitated. His muscles tightened in anticipation of her touch. The wounds no longer bled. The worst, five deep gashes, she treated as best she could. “These will scar.” “What are a few more scars?” He shook his head as if to clear it and straightened in the chair. Still looking away, he said, “You expected him.” Claudia set the bottle of oil aside and knelt beside him. Why had she remained silent? For three months they’d shared every detail of their lives, save this. She’d convinced herself the problem was hers and never once considered his right to know. How could she admit such a thing? “I didn’t want to believe he would come.”

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He glanced down at her, his face the color of snow, and away. “And if he hadn’t, would you have freed me?” No animosity or anger, just a question. The one she’d been asking herself. “Yes, Damon.” She had to believe it was so. “For weeks I meant to, but I couldn’t bear to see you go.” “Go?” Finally, he turned to her. “Why would I go, Era?” “Claudia,” she corrected. She searched his face for understanding. “My name is Claudia, Damon.” He blinked and returned a questioning stare. “You’ll go because I tell you to go, and you always do what I say.” Finally, comprehension. “No.” The word was not refusal. It was a plea. “Damon, go home.” She could give him Titus’s ultimatum, but she’d promised truth. And the truth was, she no longer disagreed. Better now than a month from now when he realizes what staying means. He has so much life before him. “Find your family. Find a wife. Make children. Take your freedom.” “No, Era, that’s not what I want. My life is here.” His pain tore at her. She saw he ached to take her in his arms to convince her, but she gave him no permission, and he didn’t. “Yes,” she said, trying to be gentle with him. “You’ll go because even if you learn to call me Claudia, I’ll always be Era to you. And that’s not what I want, Damon.” Stand. Stand and say you’ll never leave. He did stand, too quickly. His face paled. He stumbled and grabbed the edge of the desk to steady himself. She reached for him. Her world fell apart when he shied from her. An eternity passed, then he turned to her, jaw set, eyes clouded. He bowed. A grimace of pain twisted his features. “As you wish.” He fled into the peristyle and was gone before her tears dried.

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Chapter Eleven

Gaius was getting fat. Reclined on the couch as he was, toga discarded, the tunic did little to hide the thickness of his body. Poor Portia, if the man gave so little thought to his health at thirty-one, what did she have to look forward to except, perhaps, to follow her mother into early widowhood? Yet, in the years since Gaius had taken on her guardianship, Claudia had watched love grow between them. Portia’s hand lay upon his thigh as she sat beside him, catering to his every whim. His lay comfortably on her shoulder. They touched at any opportunity. “That slave who so impressed Scipio, you named him Graecus in his manumission, didn’t you?” Claudia foundered. Why did Gaius bring Damon up now? No one had spoken his name in this house in a very long time, though the man himself was never far from her thoughts. “Yes, Damon. Graecus was his father’s name.” She forced herself to speak casually and reach for a pear from the bowl on the low table between the couches. “I thought I recognized him. Are you aware he’s returned to Rome?” “No.” Shaken, she stopped in mid-reach. Gaius could be mistaken. The name Graecus was not uncommon. Gaius had seen him only once, and Damon had spent most of their brief visit in Ostia or buried in documents. “Here, let me, Mater.” Portia slipped from the couch to kneel at the small table. Her body hid Claudia from Gaius’s view. Her eyes spoke caution at her mother as she took an orange from the bowl and tore at the peel with manicured nails. The sharp, sweet scent of the fruit brought Claudia to her senses. Portia knew. “I always thought freeing him was a mistake,” Gaius was saying. “He was far too valuable to let slip through your fingers, and why? For doing his job? But, after watching him these past few weeks, I’m certain you did the right thing. Ambition like his is far too dangerous in a slave.” “Damon, ambitious?” She’d always thought Damon content. “You must be mistaken. Have you spoken with this man?” “No, getting to him is almost impossible. He has quite the entourage. Did you know he was a brothel slave in his previous life?” He lives! Claudia closed her eyes, thankful for Portia’s presence to hide her reaction. So, Damon’s history had become common knowledge.

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“I passed his documents to Scipio without reading,” she said, seeking safety in half-truths. She’d been tempted to learn more after Damon had told her, but chose to allow him a little pride. Why has he returned? “Apparently, half the senate fears what he might tell and the other half hopes he’ll use the information. A little blackmail would serve his purpose, but he remains the epitome of discretion.” “What purpose?” “Can you imagine? The Greeks want a senate seat.” Gaius laughed as though the idea held no merit. She wondered briefly why this should offend her. Who was she to have an opinion? The politics of Rome didn’t concern her. What role Damon might play did. “They may have sent just the man to negotiate,” Gaius continued. “Nero is enamored. He’s offered to appoint a seat if Graecus is willing to fill it. With his mother out of the way, our young emperor has grown giddy with power—enough to defy any law.” Nero again. Gaius managed to work his intrigues into every conversation and Claudia could not sit still for another tirade. Her emotions burned with the news of Damon’s return, and she wanted nothing more than to cut the evening short. She bit back the urge to shout, “Enough,” and looked up, grateful to find Mania entering the atrium. “The boy is asleep, Era.” “Thank you.” Somehow she managed to keep the relief from her voice. “That’s all for today, Mania. Enjoy your evening.” She watched, dismayed at a stab of jealousy, as Mania slipped away to meet her young man. Claudia would never let on she knew of the couple’s clandestine meetings. Mania was far more discreet than Claudia had ever managed, but the look the little maid wore these days was all too familiar. Claudia sighed and grabbed the opportunity to excuse herself. “Forgive me, Gaius,” she said, rising from her couch. “I’d like some air before bed.” “Of course,” Gaius said. He also stood and, with a gentle hand, helped his wife to her feet. “We should retire, too. I need an early start in the morning. If you don’t mind, Claudia, I’ll go over the books at first light and be on my way.” Claudia waved off any imagined inconvenience. “Good night, then.” She wanted to walk, so she grabbed her stole as she passed her office and left through the front door rather than into the garden. The air was crisp and smelled of winter. A quarter moon rested hugely just above the horizon, casting deep shadows in the orchard. She crossed the courtyard to sit on the low wall and wait the few minutes the waxing crescent needed to rise high enough to brighten her way. Leaning back against the portal arch, she brought her feet onto the wall to hug her knees, careless of the un-matronly pose. Who would see or care? Only her daughter, whose approach she observed from the corner of her eye. Portia joined her, sitting stiffly on the wall at her feet. “What did Titus tell you?” Even spoken softly, the question seemed an intrusion on the stillness of the night.

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Portia’s gaze remained glued to her hands in her lap. “Everything. He said Damon left barely an hour after you gave him his papers.” “Does Gaius know? Did he mean to torture me with this news?” “No, Mater.” Portia’s gaze found her mother’s eyes. The compassion Claudia found gave her comfort. “Titus made me promise not to tell. He only told me because he thought someone should know.” “So, he set two guardians on me.” Three years and her daughter had never questioned her. “Titus was caught in a bad situation and handled it the best he could. He’s not cruel, Mater. I hope you understand what he did shook him deeply.” “Of course, Portia.” Claudia sighed. “I don’t blame Titus. The whole affair was my sad doing.” In the end, her son had shown a maturity far greater than Claudia expected from him. Appointing Gaius her guardian, as opposed to the man her father-in-law recommended, had set her free from her Crassi yoke and satisfied his grandfather at the same time. “Has Damon tried to see you?” “No. He won’t. Our parting was…less than amicable.” Under normal circumstances, she should expect his visit. Under normal circumstances, Damon would owe her a debt. But he’d left with nothing but his wounds and a few possessions. Titus had indulged her hysteria and searched for him, but returned unsuccessful, the pension she’d sent undelivered. If anything, the debt was hers. “Do you want me to try to get a message to him?” “No!” Gods, no. “Thank you for asking. Best to leave things as they are. You’re cold, filia. You’re not used to these country evenings. Go inside.” “Are you coming?” “Soon.” Claudia stopped by the servants’ quarters and woke Cook, briefly, to warn her of Gaius’s plans and the need to prepare two days’ food for his journey. He’d take care of his business and return, leaving her five days to visit with her daughter. Afterward, she made her way well into the orchard—Damon’s realm. Nostalgia always brought her here. Tonight his presence was stronger than usual. The glut of emotion she’d struggled to hold back threatened to overtake her. She fought to strangle the tiny inkling of hope trying to work its way into her heart. She had no right to hope. He would not come. Long-withheld tears streamed down her cheeks. He lives!

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Chapter Twelve

The confusion of men’s voices and the buzz of saws, muffled by distance and the chill morning air, drifted his way. A heavy branch fell to the ground with a crackle and thud. The familiar sounds of early pruning allowed Damon to choose the path through the orchard least likely to attract attention. The fewer witnesses to this foolish thing he was about to do the better, though a thousand witnesses wouldn’t deter him. He had to see her, even if seeing her meant setting himself up to have his heart ripped out. He’d survived before; he would again. He dare not expect anything more from this visit, but he did hope. He walked Echo at a lazy pace beneath the trees, not solely to delay his arrival. The mid-morning sun dappled the ground beneath his feet. The angle of the shadows, the perfumes of fresh-cut wood and pitch underlain with rich earth watered by a season of rain—Dulcia, his senses, starved for so long, devoured her. At the edge of the orchard, he paused to take in the house and yard. Not even returning to his family and the land of his birth had offered this sense of homecoming. His stomach tightened in anticipation. What was her routine these days? Would he find her in her office, as was her custom at this hour—perhaps meeting with a new steward? He crossed the yard and tethered Echo at the water trough, then made his way to the back gate into the peristyle. “Hand it down, Little Lucius. Be careful, don’t scratch yourself.” The woman he loved stood in her garden beneath the lemon tree. Her back was to him. If he left without speaking, she’d be none the wiser, but he stayed, transfixed by the sight of her and the child on her shoulders. Little Lucius was probably not yet three. Mine? She wouldn’t thank him if he’d left her with a bastard. The boy’s face was turned away. Damon had no way to judge if the child might be his. The idea he might belong to another stung. Either way, a child’s presence made his welcome even less likely. He resisted a second urge to slip away unseen and braced himself against inevitable rejection. He’d come too far, wanted too hard, to give up with the object of his desire in sight. She was more beautiful than he remembered her. The lemon dangled just beyond the little one’s reach. Claudia’s tiny frame forced her to stretch on her toes to lift him higher. The sleeve of her chiton fell to her shoulder, baring one slender arm as she secured

Damon’s Price

the child in place. Her hem lifted to expose tiny feet, trim ankles and most of her calves. The memory of those pale limbs wrapped around him, clutching, their bodies straining to meld, swept through him. She had not changed in the time he’d been away. The child hid her hair from view, but he knew she wore it tied back in a knot, as always. He remembered how it flowed over her back to her waist. The way it framed her face and covered his chest as she rode him. What he felt for the woman gripped him, bringing lead to his chest, and new courage. “Claudia.” She turned at the sound of her name. Her gaze swept the garden. When she found him standing in the shadows, she froze. Gods! His heart quickened. He stepped into the sunlight and watched joy dawn on her face. Three quick strides brought him close enough to smell the lemon oils on her hands. “Damon.” Tears welled in her eyes. She lifted the boy from her shoulders and set him on his feet without looking away. His name hung between them for a long moment. Her sweet-smelling fingers rose to caress his cheek. He took the hand and brought its trembling palm to his lips. The kiss lingered longer than he’d intended. After the kiss, he held on, unwilling to let her go again. First, a confession. “I hated you when you sent me away. Can you ever forgive me for leaving without saying good-bye?” “Oh, Damon, we feared for your life. I couldn’t imagine how you would survive.” “Forgive me, please.” He’d never considered she might be frightened for him when he left. He’d only known she feared what would happen if he stayed. “There’s nothing to forgive. Did you find your family?” “Yes. They’ve done well. You were right. I needed to see them. I needed to know.” “Good.” Her smile brightened. One tear escaped and slid down her cheek. “I also suggested a wife and children,” she teased. “No wife.” He glanced at the toddler standing at her side, his little hand buried in the fabric of her dress. Black hair, black eyes, delicate features so like hers—nothing of himself. Whose child? “I looked, but no one was you.” Yes, she’d heard him. For the briefest of moments, her smile faltered. He might have missed it if he hadn’t been studying her so intently. She bent down, too late to hide her reaction, and lifted the child to her hip. The sudden withdrawal of her hand from his left him empty. For a moment, he’d thought… “This is Lucius, my grandson. Lucius, this is Damon Graecus. Say hello.”

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57

Ali Katz

“Grandson?” Oh gods. Relief flooded him in spite of the way she’d dismissed his confession. At least the distance she sought had nothing to do with his leaving her a slave’s bastard. Had his angry departure ruined what was between them? “Claudia, a grandmother?” “Portia’s child. Don’t look so relieved.” She laughed and called for Mania. He returned the laugh. Was he so obvious? Perhaps he was to her. But if she thought he’d let her ignore his words, she was remembering a different man. “And you, Claudia? What men in your life?” “Gaius watches over me from Rome. He’s yet to interfere.” “Good.” So, Titus had mercy after all. So many questions arose. How was she managing? Was there a place for him? How would his reappearance complicate her life? Her happiness at seeing him gave him hope, but would she think the price of having him worth paying? More importantly, what right did he have to ask? “Gaius does keep me informed of the news from Rome. You’ve done well for yourself, Damon. Will you take the senate seat if Nero offers?” “He has offered,” he clarified. “No, I won’t accept. I’ve managed to make an impression, but it will take more than a few influential friends to earn the respect of that group. The city fathers in Athens have their own candidates in mind.” They were interrupted by a young woman who entered the garden eyeing him shyly, then more intently as she approached. He smiled, and her face lit with recognition. “Damon!” Mania ran the last few steps and threw her arms around him. Her enthusiastic kiss warmed his cheek. “Oh, Damon, you came back.” He held her at arm’s length to take her in. The changes he saw made his time away become more evident. Had he stayed away too long? “Mania, how beautiful you’ve grown.” The not-so-little maid blushed prettily. “Welcome home.” She reached for the child who fell happily into her arms. “Will you be staying?” That was the question, wasn’t it? He turned to Claudia. “I hope to.” She avoided his eyes and again let his words pass unacknowledged, but the worry lines in her forehead softened. “Mania, take Lucius to his mother, please.” When the two disappeared into the house, she took his hand and gently tugged him to a seat beside her on the bench under the lemon tree. Their knees brushed. She gasped. A shiver ran through her and jumped like a spark across the tiny gap separating them. The fire was still there. She took a moment, and when she finally spoke, none of the passion he’d hoped for came out. “In Rome, Damon, the respect you seek is easily bought.” Surely she understood what he’d tried to say. How could he be any plainer? “Money is your least concern. You’ve only to ask.”

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Damon’s Price

Money? He came to bare his soul, and she offered money? “Claudia…” She raised her hand to cut him short. “You’ll need a wife to cement your citizenship. A family. I can help. Finding someone suitable won’t take long.” The hope in him began to die. “Claudia, please—” “Don’t deny me the chance to help you, Damon. I owe you too much. You didn’t even take what was rightfully yours when you left.” No, but what he did take was still with him, poised to swallow what was left of his heart. The remembered pain stole his breath. “What are you telling me?” “If you won’t take the money from me, a dozen others would be happy for the chance to support a senate seat.” “Stop!” Damon bounded from the bench. Fighting his rising impatience, he began to pace. He would not, could not give up until she told him he must, even if he had to drag the words from her. “Don’t you understand? I’m not interested in Nero’s offer. Surely you know I have the heart of a farmer, not a politician. I took this assignment for the chance to return to Rome, to Dulcia, to you.” He stopped pacing to gaze down on her, waiting. “Damon, think of what you’re giving up: a home of your own, a family.” “Claudia, stop. Stop trying to marry me off. You lost the right to determine my future when you set me free. All I want is that you let me love you.” She gaped up at him. “Stop looking for excuses to turn me away. If you want me to leave, Claudia, tell me to go.” Their eyes locked. Hope returned as he watched her war with herself and grew stronger with each moment that passed without her saying the word. He’d seen her struggle like this before. He’d been helpless to comfort her then—not now. He reached for her hand and pulled her into his arms. Their bodies molded together. How could she not know this was meant to be? “Say what you want, Carissima,” he whispered and immediately regretted pressing her. Maybe what she needed was time. Her eyes drifted closed. She inhaled deeply as though breathing him in. Her lips trembled. The memory of her taste invaded his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to kiss those lips, to ravage any lingering doubt from her mind. So close. He didn’t realize how close until he felt her breath touch him. “Say what you want.” A shudder passed through her, and all resistance melted away. When she opened her eyes, his entire being cried out with joy at the love they showed him. “Stay,” she breathed, and made him welcome.

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59

About the Author

To learn more about Ali Katz, please visit www.a-katz.com. Send an email to Ali at [email protected] or

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He stole her heart. Now they’ll have to steal their chance for love…

The Thief and the Desert Flower © 2009 Bonnie Dee Chala might be a princess, but as her caravan bears her toward an arranged marriage, she feels more like a prisoner, robbed of any chance for true love. When she is kidnapped by a band of nomads, escape is her first instinct. But as the leader, Kyo, turns his seductive charms on her, she finds fury and lust inextricably entwined. Kyo only meant to take the treasures Chala carried, but the fiery tempered princess draws more than blood when she scores his face. She ignites a craving in his veins that burns hotter than the desert sands. Impulse drives him to seduce her until she freely gives him everything he wants. What he gets is a battle of wills—and a new enemy in the form of her jilted fiancé, who isn’t about to let a merger between two kingdoms dissolve without a fight. Captured between duty and desire, Chala must use every ounce of her cleverness to save a desert people…and take back the most precious treasure of all—a future with Kyo. Warning: Kidnapping, but no forced sex. Sand, sun, seduction and sensual slavery.

Enjoy the following excerpt for The Thief and the Desert Flower: Chala watched Kyo from beneath her lashes, checking his reaction. Over the past few days she’d begun to believe he didn’t intend to ransom her at all. He was going to keep her as a slave to do his menial labor for the rest of her life. This discussion of kidnapping brides made her doubt he’d ever planned to free her, and when she thought of it, he’d never actually had a chance to give a ransom message to anyone from the caravan. He blinked and poked at the fire with a stick. The movements in themselves meant nothing, but his demeanor proclaimed guilt. “I leave to negotiate with Brachas today.” He lingered with a hiss on the word “negotiate”, and she guessed it was a new one in his Genderese vocabulary. Standing, he held out a hand to her. “Come. You bored from sit too much. I show you something.” She rose without taking his hand. “Show me what?” “I can’t take you. You will be alone for some days. I trust you not to run because I take horses, but you need know how to defend if something happen.” He suddenly seized her arm. “In caravan you fight good. I show you how to do even better.” Her eyebrows shot up. He was going to teach her to fight? The man really was crazy. “When man grab you like this how you break free?”

Chala pulled against his grip and kicked out with her foot, but before it could connect with his shin, Kyo had spun her around and pulled her back against him. Now he held her tight in the circle of his arm, against his body. She struggled, but couldn’t break the iron band of his arm around her middle. “No! Man is big. You are small. Must use cleverness to escape.” She panted, breathless even though she hadn’t really exerted herself yet. “What do you suggest?” Abruptly he whirled her away till she faced him and let go of her. “Man expect you to pull away. You step in close and stab like so… Reach for my arm.” Chala acted the part of the attacker, grabbing his forearm. Kyo lunged toward her so quickly she shrieked. His hand shot toward her eyes, two fingers extended to gouge them. He stopped inches short of doing so. Her heart pounded. “Karachi!” Kyo pulled back. “Or, try this.” He drew her swiftly back into his arms, twirling her around and close to his body again. “Maybe you can’t break free.” His breath puffed warm against the side of her face. “But you can hit with back of head. Try.” Chala was confused. He was moving quickly, giving her no time to think, only to react. But she obeyed his command and snapped her head back. Pain bloomed in her skull as it cracked against his jaw. Kyo grunted and cursed. His grip on her body loosened and she almost wiggled free before he caught her again. “Good.” “You’re crazy! Let me go.” She stomped on his foot, but he didn’t flinch, probably because her feet were bare while he wore boots. “Take me back where I belong and I won’t need to learn how to defend myself.” “Patience. I make deal, then we see.” “I don’t believe you. I don’t think you have any intention of letting me go,” she blurted, tired of pretending she believed his lies. She bent her head and bit his forearm. He yelped and relaxed his grip. This time she pushed her body back into his, knocking them both off kilter. As Kyo stumbled, trying to catch his balance, she shot forward, out of his arms. She scooped up the small axe they used to chop kindling and spun around to face him. Kyo was back on his feet. Eyes glittering, he moved toward her, lithe and graceful as a cat. She swung the ax toward him, not in a spinning arc as if to cut off his head, but a little jab intended to threaten and force him back. He ducked down and lunged up in front of her. His arm swept out, hitting hers with a stunning blow that sent the ax flying and clattering on the ground. It felt like her arm had been hit by a hammer. Stinging pain shot from the point of contact. Before she could even cry out, Kyo had her in his arms again, pulled up tight against him.

He gazed into her eyes, less than a hand span away. “Very good, sachense. You learn fast.” “You hurt me!” She smacked her hands against his chest, her arm throbbing. “You’ll live.” He lowered his face, closer yet, only inches away. His lips were parted, the lower one moist and gleaming. She focused on a tiny brown mole to the left of his nose to keep from staring at his mouth. They stood together, bodies swaying slightly, and all she could hear was his breath, the blood rushing in her ears and the trickling of water from the back of the cave. Would he kiss her? What was he waiting for? Suddenly, she couldn’t bear it any longer. She rose up on her toes and leaned toward him. Her mouth settled over his and she tasted him, warm and spicy. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth and he groaned. Then she took it between her teeth, tugging and making him groan louder. Chala bit down—not a playful nip, a hard bite, her teeth tearing through his flesh. Kyo yelled and pushed her away. His hands flew to his mouth. Below his cupped hands, blood trickled down his chin. “Lagro! Lagro, mochran!” Chala licked her lips and tasted copper. She glanced past him, gauging the distance to the cave entrance and her chances of reaching it before he grabbed her again. Lunging to the left, she darted past him. Kyo tackled her to the ground. She hit the rocky floor hard enough to drive the air from her lungs, and he landed with his body half covering hers. Gasping for air, she tried to crawl from beneath him. He rolled to the side, flipping her over so she lay face up. He straddled her body, pinning her down. She glared into his bloodied, grinning face. He was panting and his eyes were as bright as the midday sun. “Kloa, yes? Hot!” Her lungs burned as she inhaled. Before she could say a word or spit in his face, Kyo descended on her like a diving eagle and kissed her. If it hurt when he ground his torn lip against hers, he didn’t flinch. He held her arms to the ground on either side of her head and kissed her with such ardor that she was breathless again. She wiggled beneath him, testing to see if she could shift his body weight off of her. It was like being trapped under a pile of rocks, and his erection prodding into her belly was definitely rock hard. He dared to plunge his tongue into her mouth, heedless of the damage she could do with her teeth even though she’d just given him a lesson. The tang of his blood and the new awareness of violence she’d never known she possessed combined into a heady aphrodisiac. Chala surrendered to his stroking tongue. Of its own accord, her tongue curled around his and her lips molded to his hard pressure. Her body felt like softened tallow, refusing to respond to her commands to fight him.

After a few moments, he released her mouth to kiss her jaw and neck, tickling her with his lips until she squirmed once more. He murmured something in Shinje against her neck and rocked his hips, rubbing his cock against her. Her pulse fluttered as erratically as a trapped moth, and her already sweating body grew hotter. His grip on her wrists loosened as his mouth ranged over her chest and the swell of her breasts. “Lagro, ti claisse. Mi tyokianna ti.” The vibration of the words against her flesh, the puffs of air that accompanied them, melted her into a puddle of desire. Her ability to struggle drifted away on a current of pleasure.

The weight of the past could tear them apart…

Sins of the Father © 2009 Anna O’Neill In his first mission as a shinobi, Sora Sanada has more than its success riding on his shoulders. Every move he makes is a reflection on his clan’s honor. So when an unexpected scuffle leaves him injured and the mission in jeopardy, he’d rather be left behind—but his partner, the mysterious, masked Kaname, has other ideas. Kaname breathes a silent sigh of relief when the younger, less-experienced Sora agrees to a plan to throw their enemies off their trail. As a member of the deposed Takeda clan, the last thing he needs is more disgrace heaped upon the family name should he lose the Sanada princeling. His plan to disguise themselves as naked lovers is a rousing success in more ways than one. It sparks a bond that shakes them to the core—and the Shinano Province to its foundations… Warning: Clan politics, ninja hazing, and manlove of the explicit variety.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Sins of the Father: Kaname looked infinitely better with blood in his hair. Something about it rid the man of his typically indifferent expression and gave him the appearance of a true fighter. Sora took his time before running the damp cloth over his sempai’s hair. They sat on a sloping hillside in the forest next to a stream that eventually snaked its way to their outpost. The wind of the gray mid-afternoon sky tickled his skin. He shivered. “Just a little bit more,” Sora said, leaning forward to wash the red out of the cloth into the stream. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were enjoying this.” Maybe he was. It wasn’t every day that Kaname broke orders and paid for it. Sora wrung out the water-filled cloth above Kaname’s head and watched rivulets of blood spill down his cheeks and into his shinobi mask. “I specifically told you to track the men, not hunt them down,” Sora said. The mission had been to retrieve a shinobi who had deserted his post. A runaway shinobi, privy to provincial and political secrets, was a liability the daimyo could not afford. When Sora’s squad caught up with him, they found him in the company of five strange men, and when the deserter split off from the main group Sora insisted that Kaname track the strangers rather than kill them. Sora went with Akira to take care of the main objective. When all was finished, there was no one left alive for the interrogation team. “With all due respect, Captain, as I’ve said before: sometimes orders must be broken.”

It must be uncomfortable, continuing to wear that ridiculous cloth mask when it was soaked through. Especially considering the coldness of the stream water. It gave Sora just enough excuse to rest a finger against the edge of the material and gently tug down. Kaname caught his hand and held it firm. So, no then. “Sempai.” Sora lifted Kaname’s hand until it was high above his head. “You know you have to keep this elevated. Another reason why you should have listened to me.” The gash on Kaname’s upper arm was swathed with linen now, but Sora still remembered how deeply the skin had split in two. Still Kaname didn’t let go. “I won’t touch your mask again,” Sora murmured, freeing his hand. Without complaint, Kaname allowed him to towel off his hair and wrap linen around his skull to put pressure on the seeping wounds. After several failed attempts of trying subtly to catch the older man’s eye, Sora decided that Kaname was deliberately avoiding meeting his gaze. Why? Was he ashamed about killing those men unnecessarily? Probably not, he thought, sitting beside him. Kaname-sempai had a unique value system. If he thought an action was right, for whatever reason, he would not feel guilty about disobeying direct orders. It was frustrating and refreshing at the same time. Frustrating because he threatened to topple the success of the mission, refreshing because…Sora didn’t really know anyone else like that. It was brave. He felt a raindrop hit his cheek as the wind picked up. It came from a patch of nearby trees, a leftover reminder that it had rained. Sora could report that act of sedition to the daimyo at any time and threaten his partner’s standing as a shinobi. No one wanted a hero on their team. Someone who thought for himself. Someone who stood up for his beliefs. Someone willing to challenge authority figures, rules and conventions if he thought it necessary. Sora slowly unwrapped the Han-eri scarf from around his neck and proffered it to his teammate. Typically the scarf was worn between kimono and neck, but Sora thought Kaname looked cold enough to warrant the additional layer. Kaname stared at it for a moment before refusing. It seemed he preferred his own, though there wasn’t much left of it after their enemies had gotten to him. What tatters remained fluttered in the wind. When he guided Kaname’s lacerated arm down, Sora didn’t say anything. He didn’t know how the other could stand being both wet and cold. He soaked up the companionable silence, listened to the rustling leaves before he spoke. “Kanamesempai, can I ask you a question?” “As long as you don’t ask for coin.” Sora relaxed his shoulders. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. “You are aware of the writer Hanaya Hokusai?”

“That I am. Not such a good author.” “I’m being serious.” “So am I.” Sora stared at him. “Terrible stuff. No romance to speak of.” Sora tried to sound nonchalant. “They say he wrote about your father. The details of his life and…” Kaname met Sora’s eyes, though Sora couldn’t say for sure whether they expressed anything other than complete aloofness. He could learn a lot by studying this man’s reactions. He still hadn’t perfected the art of keeping his emotions completely off his face, if the way his father always seemed to get angrier as their conferences wore on was any indication. Sora tried perfecting his skill now. He shrugged. “You’re a strange boy, Sanada Sora.” “And yet they say you wanted to join my squadron again.” Too much. That shut him down, shut him up, shut him off from the connection they just shared. It was time to change the subject. “Kaname-sempai, I don’t think Akira-san is coming back.” “He’ll be back.” Sora crawled in front of Kaname and sat so the other could not avoid his gaze. “By the time the healer gets here…” Kaname nodded, a small movement of defeat. “Trust me,” Sora said. “I’ve done this before.” He reached into his pocket to reveal his half-darning, half-senbon needle, and dug around to find the emergency sutures. It would probably be better not to mention that the last time he needed to do so was when he was still in training, in the class where the sparring losers were slashed open so the suture group could practice their sewing skills. It wasn’t exactly luck that prevented Sora from ever being tested on. He was a Sanada, after all. On the few instances where he did get injured (largely due to being outnumbered, or worse, abandoned), he always had a healer with him to help. If one could not afford a healer, he was expected to do his own dirty work. And it was dirty, Sora thought, unwrapping the soaked linen around Kaname’s upper arm. The two flaps of skin parted like sliced meat. “I’m sorry,” Sora said softly, moving in closer to get a better grip. Kaname was looking at him openly now, his eyes radiant in the gray light, perhaps wondering whether the needle was sterilized (it was) or whether his makeshift healer was experienced (he wasn’t). Still, Kaname trusted him enough to thread the needle and place the tip next to his injured skin. Or maybe he realized he simply had no other choice. “I’m going to start now.”

Kaname nodded. “You’ve had this done before?” “With numbing agents.” “I’m sorry, I don’t have any of that.” “Why would you?” Kaname said quietly. “You’re a killer, not a healer.” Sora was not quite sure whether he intended that to be an insult, but it gave him the motivation to slide the needle through his flesh regardless. Why his thighs began to tremble, he couldn’t explain. Maybe it was because he’d been on his feet all day. Maybe it was because he felt his partner tense up and will his arm not to jerk away, and this was some sort of psychological empathetic response. Maybe it was the foreign hand on his hip, squeezing his flesh to the bone. Suddenly, his scarf felt unbearably tight around his neck. He was only halfway through, and already he could feel sweat beading near his temple. This needed concentration, precision and his utmost attention. He couldn’t afford to steal glances at that masked face, jaw set tight, eyes mere slits, or to notice the warmth of the man not a hand span away from him, and he damn well couldn’t allow that to happen now. He wondered what Kaname would think if he suddenly jammed the needle into his own palm. He sewed faster. “You could have been a seamstress,” Kaname said after it was finished. That’s when it began to rain. A flash of lightning blazed across the sky, followed by an explosion so loud it made Sora flinch. He had to control his breathing. When wet lips met his own all of a sudden, he couldn’t help but let out a small gasp. Kaname had pulled his mask down.

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