The Roman. Caroline Storer

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СКАЧАТЬ his time, waiting for Quintus to die, before he made his final move and took what he wanted. Her. In his bed. Justina’s lips twisted wryly as she thought of the potential danger she was in. How ironic, she thought, that for six years she’d managed to avoid Quintus’s touch, only to find herself at the mercy of his overseer.

      Justina shuddered, and deliberately dismissed him from her thoughts. She needed to finish packing if she were to be ready to leave at the allotted time, and worrying about Secundus wasn’t going to solve anything. She would just have to deal with him when the time came. And she would. Because once Quintus was dead, she would be a free woman, a woman who would finally be in control of her life…and her destiny.

      A few minutes later she was ready, and when she heard a knock at the door she walked over to it and opened it, assuming it would be Diogenes come to collect her. But her body froze when she saw Marsallas leaning against the door frame watching her, a brooding look on the harsh planes of his face.

      For a moment she remembered the young man of her youth, and mourned his demise, for the man standing across the room from her bore no resemblance to the youth she had know all those years ago. And although he had been muscular as a young man, today, as he stood there in the doorway of her room looking totally at ease, Justina had to acknowledge that he had matured into an outstanding specimen of manhood.

      The life as a charioteer demanded peak physical fitness, and Justina had to acknowledge that he looked every inch the superb athlete that he must be. And he looked totally at ease in his skin, as if he knew exactly what effect he had on women.

      Unbidden, he came slowly into the room, smiling a wolf’s smile, and Justina blushed at having been caught staring at him again. He lifted his arms in a gesture of supplication, the action faintly mocking, as his blue gaze fixed on hers with such intensity that it caused Justina’s stomach to clench partly in fear, and partly in response to the sheer masculinity he exuded.

      "So here I am. What was so important that you had to travel to Rome to see me?”

      Justina swallowed, her nerves on edge, as he came further into the room, his muscular presence instantly shrinking the room. She felt her breath catch as he came closer, standing no more than three feet away from her. The harsh lines of his face had been carved out by his life in the Circus. But he was also ruggedly handsome, and just looking at him caused her heart to beat erratically even after all the years away from him.

      She had the urge to move away, to put some distance between them, but didn’t want to appear a coward, so instead she lifted her chin and looked him squarely in the eyes. Her fear dissipated somewhat, when she saw with some surprise, that he looked ill. His skin was a sallow yellow colour, his eyes bloodshot, and she could see sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip. Concern overcame fear, and she ignored his question. Instead she asked, “Are you ill?”

      She saw him raise an eyebrow, and a small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

      "Your concern is touching, Justina. No, I am not ill, just recovering from the excesses of last night, if you know what I mean. Life as one of Rome’s great charioteers, is just one long endless party.”

      Justina blushed at the sarcastic tone of his voice, and she turned away, annoyed with herself for showing concern for him. She should have realised that he would turn it against her.

      After a tense silence had fallen in the room, she turned back to him and saw him watching her through narrowed eyes. He was obviously still waiting for an answer as to why she had come to see him, so taking a deep breath she said in a measured tone, “Your uncle is dying. I’ve come to Rome to ask you to return to Herculaneum. To…to come home.”

      Another long silence descended in the room until Marsallas barked, “Home! Since when has that mausoleum ever been a home? No, I don’t think so Justina. You can tell my uncle that I am far too busy here in Rome!”

      Justina said nothing. She didn’t argue with him, or try to persuade him as she knew it would be futile. She had, at least, carried out the order she had been given, and could now return to Herculaneum knowing that she had spoken with him. If she was honest with herself, she agreed with Marsallas. In all the years she had lived in the vast villa, she had never felt comfortable living there, and she had prayed every day for the opportunity to be presented to her so she could leave the cold austere place.

      “Tell me one thing though, Justina.” Marsallas asked, breaking into her thoughts, “Did my uncle ask, or order you to come here?”

      Justina looked up at him, guilt stealing over her, as hot colour stained her cheeks at his question. The unspoken reaction was answer enough for Marsallas, and he laughed, the sound harsh and guttural in the silence of the room. “Just as I thought,” he said, his mouth twisting in derision. “No, I will not come back to Herculaneum, Justina. My life there is over, you can tell my uncle that. It was over the day he bedded you!”

      She stiffened at the harshness of his words, but said nothing, watching as he walked back towards the door, and back out of her life once more. But then he stopped abruptly, as if he had suddenly remembered something, before he turned and walked back to where she stood. She had to resist the urge to flee when she saw the intense look on his face as he came towards her. But she stood her ground, willing her body to remain calm. But when he came to within touching distance of her she was potently aware of his raw sexuality. Her skin prickled in awareness, and she swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. She could well imagine the women of Rome wanting him in their beds.

      “I almost forgot,” he murmured softly, lifting up her chin with firm fingers, and Justina not having any choice, looked up into his face. She felt her eyelashes flutter slightly as her eyes clashed with his. His fingers were rough, calloused, with the hard work of his life. Then she felt his thumb skim over the fullness of her bottom lip, and she had to fight the urge to taste his skin with her tongue. She could see resistance in his eyes as he touched her, as if he were fighting his own internal battles as far as she was concerned. Then his eyes darken with suppressed passion, and before she could think, or react, he leaned forward and took her in his arms and kissed her - deeply – his lips firm and unyielding, his tongue demanding, and gaining access to the softness within.

      Justina gripped his strong bare forearms, wanting to break away from the kiss, but unable to do so as a surge of desire flowed through her. She closed her eyes, caught up in the headiness of his mouth on hers. Eventually he pulled away, and Justina felt bereft that the kiss had ended so soon. But then the enormity of what had just happened hit her, and her eyes flew open.

      For a heartbeat neither of them moved, but then Marsallas broke the spell between them, his lip twisting in derision. He cocked his head and clicked his tongue, in what was obviously a false gesture of regret, before asking in a mocking tone, “Tell me, do I kiss better than Quintus?”

      Justina gasped in horror at his words, and before she could think, she slapped him across the face. Hard.

      For a moment she couldn’t believe she’d hit him, and she stood open mouthed with shock at her audacity. She watched as a large red mark appeared on his cheek, before stepping backwards in an involuntary movement when she saw his eyes narrow in anger.

      “Witch,” Marsallas hissed, a nerve ticking furiously along his clenched jaw line. For a moment Justina thought he might retaliate, but he didn't. Instead, he turned and strode out of the room without a backward glance, the door slamming shut behind him.

      * * *

      Diogenes came into the room a short while later. Justina was sitting on the bed deep in thought. She looked up at the silent man; reading the question in his eyes, the concern СКАЧАТЬ