Words of apology died on Julia's lips. He wanted to spend time with her.

With the next breath, ice washed through her veins. He had probably accepted the offer because he needed to leave quickly before his training began, before he had to ask her politely but firmly to leave. He was trying to let her down gently, behaving as a guest should towards the daughter of the house.

'As it will save time, it will be my pleasure.' She swept out of the room with her head held high, eyes firmly fixed on the hanging lamp in the corridor.

His sandalwood scent enveloped her, holding her as surely as if she was in his arms. Julia felt some beads of sweat begin to gather on her forehead as she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

'If you walk quickly, I'll lose you,' he said and tucked her arm in his.

Every nerve sizzled where her bare skin brushed his. Julia swallowed hard. Her whole body tingled from his nearness.

'It is easy to find your way, once you know how to go.'

Valens watched Julia's face as they walked along. This morning, her dark hair curled softly about her shoulders. No need to wonder at the outline of her curves. The thin off-white tunic clung in all the right places. He felt his body harden at the sight of it moulding to her calves as she walked.

He watched the way her body moved as she strode down the corridor, intent on showing him the way out, a way he already knew.

Despite his resolve to forget her, her face and her voice had haunted his thoughts last night and he had had a dozen conversations with her in his head. He watched her sleep-kissed mouth, and the curve of her slender throat, and wondered where he should begin.

In many ways, it would be easier if she went into worship mode. He was used to that. He could ignore it. He was used to women offering him their bodies.

He wanted more from her than just a quick meaningless meeting. He enjoyed talking to her as an equal, being himself and not Valens the Gladiator for once. He'd almost forgotten he had an existence before the arena, before the spectacle of life and death. Only in nightmares did he remember.

'How much training do you do?' she asked as they started down the stairs.

'In the run up to the games?' Valens replied, relieved to be talking about something he knew, something he could discuss with authority. If he kept the conversation on training, he'd be less inclined to notice her lips or the way her thin tunic hinted at her thighs. His body demanded to know what she felt like against him.

'That's right—in the run up to the games.' She smoothed a lock of hair from her face and revealed more of her creamy neck.

Valens averted his eyes, concentrating on the middle distance.

'We're training nearly all the time. Making sure the moves flow like water. There is more to a gladiatorial contest than simply waving a sword about. Each move has a countermove. The public are there for the spectacle, to see the danger of controlled combat. They want more than two amateurs hacking at each other. They'd sooner watch a spinning contest than that.'

Her laugh rang out at his rather feeble quip. He risked another peek at her face and found his eyes glued to her mouth as her floral perfume tickled his nose. He wanted this woman, he realised, with a great fierce longing. He wanted her in a way he had not wanted a woman for a long time. He reached out a hand to draw her towards him.

'Will you be training here or elsewhere?' Her voice drew him back from the abyss and his outstretched hand dropped to his side. 'I know my father hoped to watch some of your sessions. He was a keen amateur gladiator in his youth. Or at least that's what he said to Mettalius Scipio last night.'

Her innocent words felt like a sword plunging into his body. He knew why he could not have her, why women like her were for ever closed to him. Every nerve in Valens's body tensed and he waited for the next blow Fate had in store for him. Would she now confide how much she cared for Mettalius? Her hopes and dreams for the future as a senator's wife?

A surge of anger went through his body.

An intelligent woman like Julia was wasted on a man like Mettalius Scipio, a man who could barely move his feet and his sword at the same time.

'Is your betrothed a keen follower of the sport?' he asked and strove to keep his voice light, to not show how the man affected him.

'Please, he is anything but that. It is my stepmother's fancy.' Julia place a hand on his arm, her face turned up towards him with an earnest expression. 'I haven't divorced one feckless fish fancier to be saddled with another one, whatever Sabina thinks. Not without a fight. For one thing, the man smells of garlic'

'I apologise. I misunderstood.' Valens noticed his heart beat faster.

He allowed his eyes to feast on her lips. The first faint light of dawn appeared in the sky, bathing everything in its soft glow. With each passing breath, Julia's face seemed softer, her lips more enticing.

Mettalius was not her choice.

He should be well on his way to practice by now, but her denial kept running through Valens's brain. He found it impossible to move from her side and refused to think of the consequences.

'Apology accepted.' She inclined her head, but her eyes glittered defiantly. 'To answer your question—I believe he considers himself to be an ardent supporter of the games. The way he was going on, you'd think it was his troupe of gladiators that were appearing in Rome.'

'Did he say anything about me?'

Julia stopped and peeped up at him through her long lashes. 'I could tease you and say no, but it would be unfair. He has seen you fight and was very impressed, inspired. You are technically one of best Thracians he has ever seen. Training-manual perfect, I believe he said.'

'I'm honoured to have such a distinguished senator as Mettalius supporting me.'

'Mettalius isn't very—' She stopped mid-sentence and gave a laugh, putting a hand over her lips. 'Oh, you said you knew him. I'd forgotten.'

'I am honoured,' Valens protested, but as soon as he said it he gave a deep laugh, joining in with Julia's infectious giggle. 'I may have exaggerated a bit. I will bow to your superior knowledge of the man. Senatorial support can be invaluable in the arena'

'Why?'

"The patrons of the games are more often than not senators and quite literally have the power of life or death over a gladiator. It is good to have one or two on your side. For one thing, it increases the appearance fee and makes death less likely.'

He watched Julia's eyes sober. Should he have dressed the truth in a polite series of lies for her? The patron of games held the life of each fighter in his fist. The thumb turned up or down was all that mattered at the end of a fight. It was all he looked for as he listened to the screams of the crowd.

'Better a senator than a dictator,' she said, with a small tremble in her voice. She turned her body away from him, bowed her head and seemed to gather her thoughts. Immediately she turned back and met his gaze full on. 'I may have only been a child, but I remember Sulla's rein of terror when we all became like gladiators, living on the whim of Sulla. In the end the Republic was restored and long may it last.'

Valens wanted to reach out and enfold her in his arms, to hold her and tell her that everything would remain as it had always been except for those years under Sulla. Instead he tightened his grip on his belt. He needed no distractions from his work. Worrying about Julia and the traumas she had been through was not going to help him win his next bout in the arena. He straightened his shoulders and strode more purposefully down the corridor, ignoring the questions in her eyes.

'Long life and prosperity to the Senate and people of Rome, I'll agree with that,' Valens said, when he had his breathing under control and they had entered the main courtyard. 'With men such as Julius Caesar, I have no doubt the Republic will endure for another seven hundred years. He is a man who knows the value of putting on good entertainment for the crowd With the crowd on his side, who knows how far he can go?'

'My father has certainly found favour with his patronage, but Rome's politics are worse than the arena, I think. Many have risen to the top, only to fall back. Just look at my great-uncle—Marius—lauded as the saviour of Rome with honour after honour heaped on him, only to be reviled as a traitor and hounded to his death by Sulla.'

'Caesar is a prudent gambler. He will keep his feet.'

'I hope so. He is the best hope the Julian family has had in generations. We all need him and his good will.'

Valens closed his eyes and remembered when those words had been said about him—the time when he had been his family's best hope.

It was what made the fall so much harder—the knowledge he had let his entire family down. And the men who depended on him to keep them safe. His father had been right to turn his back on him, not to pay the pirate ransom.

He gave his head a shake as a tendril of Julia's hair caught his attention.

The cock crowed and Valens knew he needed to leave.

He'd stayed too long as it was. For once, the other gladiators would be there before him, practising, dedicating their lives to the games and forgetting they had ever had another life.

'I'm sure he has been a good patron to your father,' he said quietly, 'but he will be less than pleased with me if I arrive late to this training session.'

At Valens's words, Julia started, and looked at her hands. She had swayed towards him, her lips parted, convinced he was about to take her into his arms. Confusion swept over her.

'Absolutely, you must go.' She brushed her hair back with her hand. The simple act seemed to restore some normality to her thoughts. She drew a deep calming breath, taking in the damp earth smell of morning. 'How foolish of me! Keeping you here asking questions and prattling on about the Republic and its future when you are needed elsewhere.'

She turned to go, keeping a firm grip on Bato's collar. She would get over this attraction, this silly crush. She was a grown woman, not a girl in her early teens with her hair falling about her shoulders and dolls lining her bedroom shelves. She had dedicated her dolls to Venus the day she had married Lucius and left her childhood behind.

Her reaction was a normal one to kindness—that was all. Nothing more serious. In a day's time, she'd wonder what she ever saw in him. A gladiator, one of the infamis. A man outside polite society. A man whose profession was death. Someone who more than likely could not read or write. Even as she thought the words, she knew they were a lie fit for Sabina.

'Julia,' he said thickly and put his hand on her elbow. She felt the sparks sizzle up her arm as the attraction started to ignite in her. 'I… I've enjoyed speaking with you. Thank you.'

She halted, felt her grip loosen on Bato's collar, but kept her eyes straight ahead, focused on the fountain in the middle of the courtyard, refusing to look at the planes of his face. The warmth in the pit of her stomach grew with each thud of her heartbeat.

'It was my pleasure. Thank you for taking care of Bato,' she said, managing to keep her voice steady, ignoring the way his fingers ran down the bare skin of her arm, drew small circles on the inside of her wrist.

Then she met his gaze, and her look tumbled into his, captured, unable to do anything but stare back. She tried to form a witty sentence, but the words died on her lips at the sight of his intent expression. His face was so close, she could feel his warm breath fanning her cheek. This time he had to kiss her.

He leant forward and his lips brushed hers, lingered. A whisper of a kiss like the finest wool caressing her body. She wanted more. Her body demanded she have more. She swayed towards him, allowed him to gather her body in his arms and his lips claimed possession. Her breasts brushed against his hard muscular chest, as she arched closer. Her lips opened and she tasted the sweetness of his mouth.


Chapter Four


The kiss sent shivers down Julia's spine. Valens's tongue glided over her lower lip and then touched the parting of her mouth before retreating. In her ears, she heard the thump of a heart—hers or his. Her body moulded itself into his hardness. It felt as if nothing had existed before and nothing would exist after.

There was only his mouth against hers.