Seducing the Roman

by M. K. Chester

  “Whatever the man desires,” Sariah whispered, a litany of possible requests running through her mind. Would he want to kiss her? What would his hands feel like on her skin? Would his touch feel good?

  Would he hurt her?

  They had not been taught these kinds of things. The temple attendants were to provide a sacrifice of fertility to Anath. Speed was desired.

  Most men, Irrina schooled them, did not know their ass from the top of their head and would give no trouble. One had to endure their crudeness for only a few moments, as limits had been placed on the activities available to them. Those things were done in the temple forum, not in private.

  Fear settled into the pit of her stomach when considering the Roman in this unique situation. She suspected they appreciated all manner of depraved acts. Tears dropped onto her cheeks as she considered her fate.

  Davisha comforted her as best she could. Sariah found no peace in her duty. She never had. She held her friend close and whispered in her ear, “I dread my life.”

  The slight girl pulled back. “You must not. We have so little control of our lives. Consider this will somehow be a blessing rather than a curse.”

  “Do you tell yourself this?”

  Davisha stiffened. “Better a whore in the temple than a whore on the street. We are fed, clothed, housed and some hold us in high esteem. Some learn to enjoy their duties. Perhaps we can as well.”

  True, some did find enjoyment in their duties, yet Sariah had never wanted this life. Her father had been too poor to find any other use for her. He promised he would return and purchase her freedom. She never saw him again.

  She fought her tears and conquered them, pushing them down her throat. No one in this place pitied her. With her long years and the gift of song she found easy favor with Irrina. Her future would be here, possibly as Irrina’s successor, after her years of sexual service had ended.

  “We will do what we must with our bodies,” she reassured Davisha and herself. “May the gods have mercy on our hearts.”

  “UNACCEPTABLE.”

  The Legate refused to relieve Titus of his duty to attend the temple ceremony with a wave of his hand.

  “I am unwell,” Titus lied.

  “Regardless, you will attend.” The man turned to him with a vacant expression. “I know you will prove loyal.”

  Was there no way to escape this trial? Titus could not count upon his governor in the same way his men counted upon him. A man given to power games and appearances, the Legate did not have a rational bone in his body. He would fall prey to the drums of the temple in a matter of moments.

  And Titus feared he would follow, unable to fend off the sensuous offerings. So, as he prepared himself and took his place in the small retinue, he girded his mind for what lay ahead on this night.

  Not opposed to women, or harlots if truth be told, they only served as distraction from duty. Thus, he did not believe soldiers needed wives or lovers, a thing he’d discovered early in his career. After all, a woman had been the ruination of his family name.

  To willingly walk into such an open-ended trap proved the Legate mad. How could the man not see this unusual invitation meant certain trouble? The question now became how to fend off whatever plan the Phoenicians hatched.

  As the entourage snaked up the hill toward the temple, he vowed to stay close to the Legate, politely refuse wine and sexual gifts and leave as soon as possible.

  In the event he could not escape, he needed to find a way to gather information and be prepared for whatever his hosts had in mind. Surely this night would be the beginning of something.

  The scent of roasting meat wafted from the temple as they neared, drumbeats thrumming in the background. Titus swallowed the palpable desire hanging heavy in the air.

  The seductive energy was not unlike the night before and Titus took note of their pathway into the temple so he might easily find his way out. He didn’t understand why the Legate had accepted this particular invitation out of all those cast at his feet.

  None had been taken up until this particular one. If orders had come from Rome to be more accommodating, Titus had not received them. As the gates closed behind them, he could not suppress his suspicion, which broke out as a cold sweat across his chest.

  No sooner had they been locked inside than festivities began. Titus inhaled the rich incense streaming from each temple pillar and wondered if they planned to sedate the entire group.

  He fell into step behind the Legate and came to a halt when a raven-haired woman, dressed in voluminous blue robes, came forward, her arms open wide in welcome.

  “Welcome to the Temple of Anath.” Her voice flowed like honey. “I am Irrina, High Priestess of the goddess. You are our honored guests for this, the first full moon of the new year!”

  With her exclamation, the drums began anew, growing intense in their rhythm. Titus’s pulse increased as the group again moved forward, past the public forum and inside the main edifice, where a feast had been laid out.

  Titus continued to perspire even though a soft breeze blew through the hallways. The scent of bread, meat and fresh wine accosted him as they crossed the threshold and took seats on cushions at a low and long ornate table.

  His eye strayed from the sumptuous feast to the lush carpets. Candlelight and sconces scattered odd shadows about the room and his gaze lifted to the barely dressed serving girls flittering in and out.

  He appreciated their appeal, his blood rising to meet the occasion. So much beauty in one place, he could not see everything at once. The Phoenicians had outdone themselves.

  Forcing himself to ignore the half-naked woman pouring his wine, he frowned at the lustful shock on the face of the Legate. Had he really no idea this would greet them?

  Inwardly, he groaned. They had immersed themselves in a pool containing worldly delights. Pawns in a game, they had been outplayed from the opening move. Except, locking eyes on the Legate, the man did not seem to care. Perhaps he wanted this opportunity all along.

  From the wall carvings to the luxurious silk robing the women, every single item in the room seemed designed to draw men in. The women all had pleasing forms, a golden skin tone and thick, dark hair. The best of their kind, young, willing and fertile.

  One young woman leaned over him to refill his wine, her spicy scent more intoxicating than any drink. He closed his eyes. He would not live through this night with his honor intact.

  Through the fog, a sweet voice reached him. The song started softly, rising subtly in volume and tempo across time and space. He found the words unrecognizable, their unfamiliar tone intimating sadness and loss in a tangible way.

  He opened his eyes and located the source. Nearly hidden in shadow, a woman snaked her body into fuller view as the melody progressed. The sorrowful notes found their way into his hardened heart and he could not to tear his gaze from her.

  Although her face was veiled, he recognized her from the previous night. The brazen movements of her limbs spoke to him, as though he were the only person in the room. His body tightened as the melody progressed, then concluded, letting the last note fade as if never given life.

  By then, she stood across the table, her body taut, full of life. Her beaded dress glinted in the candlelight and he swallowed the urge to rise and go to her, speak to her, decipher her words of adoration for a goddess he didn’t believe in.

  Instead, he sat still as two other women wrapped her in red silks to escort her from the room. From this moment, Titus could think of no one else.

  “WAIT HERE FOR HIM.”

  Hands shaking, Sariah perched on the edge of an elaborate bed in the antechamber beside the main hall as her attendant went to retrieve the Roman. With precious few moments to view these men, she’d barely managed to fix an image of him in her mind. A row of stoic men in red and brass focused on the pleasures of the temple.

  On her.

  She’d enjoyed their adoring gazes, one she thought she’d glimpsed outside the temple gates only a
night ago. But nausea swept over her afresh. She did not know what Irrina wanted with these men. She played a dangerous game.

  The door opened and closed. She lifted her head and faced the man who would be the first to bed her. One of the Romans, not the one she’d supposed, rather the man who had entranced her with his attention.

  This man held serious expression, had not smiled or laughed while she performed. He’d studied her and carried himself now like a soldier rather than a politician. His right hand rested on the hilt of his sword, as though he expected she might attack at any moment.

  This was not the man Irrina told her to expect.

  Fear welled in her belly and she laid her hand on her chest after waving off her attendant. When he faced her, she lifted her veil and looked him in the eye.

  His gaze narrowed, then he blinked, and his curiosity was replaced by something stoic and sad. Did he not understand her role? Instead of coming to her and taking her in hand, he paced the room in a straight line.

  Clearly, he had not overindulged in wine.

  “What is your name?” she asked.

  “Titus.” He answered, looking all the more like a caged lion.

  “I am Sariah.”

  His short, precise movements made her smile despite her fear and his eyes, a stormy shade of gray, pierced her troubled thoughts. His earnestness betrayed him, and she did not fear him quite as much.

  His body showed well-maintained lines and hard planes of muscle. Under ordinary circumstances she might admire him. Under these circumstances, she feared their use against her will. Yet he did not seem to wish to be with her any more than she wished to be with him.

  “Did you enjoy my song?” she asked, remembering how he had gazed at her while she sang, both tonight and the night before.

  He relaxed, but not by much. “I did.”

  “Anath gave me the gift of song.” Sariah rose and stepped toward him, her answers rote. “I praise her for all things.”

  He issued a short laugh. “You believe in her?”

  Narrowing her gaze, she answered with a question. “Do you not believe in the gods?”

  “They are stone and fiction.” He turned toward her. “They do not care for us.”

  “No,” she agreed, more attuned to his way of thinking than he knew. “They care only for themselves.”

  He came another step closer. She inhaled the scent of leather and horses as he asked, “Then why give them praise and honor?”

  His question turned a key in her heart and a different kind of understanding shot through her mind. “This is my duty.”

  A small smile appeared, then vanished. “I understand duty.”

  She stood still under his inspection, feeling his gaze as though he caressed her with his hands. Then she knew for certain, “You are not the Legate.”

  “No.” He offered a tight smile, somehow prepared for her comment. “The Legate succumbed to liquid entertainment. I command his army.”

  Sariah took a step backward. Had Irrina changed plans and not informed her? Confused, she forced her attention away from the handsome man before her and refocused on her duty.

  Catching a shallow breath, Sariah nodded. He looked as reluctant to take her as she was to offer herself, yet he’d been sent, and consummation must occur.

  As she brought her gaze to meet his, she found him tall and straight, steady and controlled. Unseducible. A tilt of his head indicated he appreciated the situation. “I can stay with you for a time and you may tell them whatever fiction you like.”

  Her heart seized. While his offer seemed generous, he did not understand the full extent of her position. On any other occasion, such strategy might work. Not this time.

  She lowered her head, face burning. “They will know.”

  “How?” He stopped himself. “I see.”

  The more she maneuvered, the more tangled she became in her own web. Dropping pretense, she spoke plainly. “I have never been with any man and I cannot return without having been with you.”

  TITUS SWALLOWED. DAMN the Legate for putting him in this situation by passing out drunk. And damn this gorgeous creature standing in front of him with beautiful, innocent, knowing eyes.

  “I cannot solve this problem for you,” he said. “I did not come for this.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  “I had orders. My duty.” The humor seemed to be at his expense. The man least likely to fall prey to these seductions now had little choice. Especially with the natural way she entreated him. He trusted she knew not of her own beauty.

  “You must,” she insisted, lower lip quivering. “I cannot face punishment.”

  Deflower her as a favor? What a cruel trick of fate. He shook his head and looked for another option. Even as his body responded to her generous offer, he sought to negotiate a different result.

  Then she whispered, “Do you not understand what this is?”

  He answered without hesitation. “A trap?”

  Her eyes widened and her full lips parted in a protest that never materialized. She responded instead with honesty. “I know not what they want with you.”

  Some type of manipulation drove this night. One look at her fearful expression told him she spoke in truth. She also did not know the intricacies of the game, only played a pawn.

  Tears glistened on her lashes like the intricate beads of her dress. He could only imagine the punishment for not fulfilling her duties. As a pawn, she deserved no such thing. The only way around the situation appeared to be through him.

  A plan materialized in the furthest corners of his mind, risky and without approval. As he considered this new option, he strove to make her comfortable.

  He stepped close enough to smell the lavender in her hair. “You are not from here?”

  “No. They darken my hair with indigo, so I look more like my sisters.” Her forehead wrinkled at his new line of questioning. “I am from the north.”

  “Then how is it,” he paused and stroked her hair, “you are in this place, doing these things?”

  She looked past him, into the wavering flame of a candle. When too much time had passed and he feared she might not answer, she admitted, “I was the youngest of five useless daughters. I was sold into service.”

  Her plight touched him, and he grappled for some understanding of her world. “You stay here out of duty?”

  “As you say,” she answered, looking to him now. “I have nothing outside these walls.”

  He interpreted a hint of frustrated passion behind her words. “What do you want of the world beyond these walls?”

  A glimmer of expectation flashed across her features, then disappeared. To dig deeper, he inched closer without touching her. “What do you most want in the world?”

  Stilling under his gaze, she leaned against him and lifted her eyes to meet his. “My freedom from this place, from this vile duty.”

  “What if I could give you your freedom?”

  “You devil me,” she replied with a scowl. “Women do not leave here except in disgrace.”

  He could not possibly take her from here, but she need not know such a cruel truth. She only needed to believe he had the power to make her dream a reality. “You do not know the might of Rome. Leave such things to me.”

  Now she backed away, one hand raised as if to fend off his proposal. “What do you want in return?”

  No lie would do. “I want to know what your priestess hopes to gain by courting the Legate. I want to know what will happen before anything happens.”

  She chewed on her lip, brows drawn together and paced the floor. “We help each other?”

  “We help each other,” he agreed to her wording, grasping in the back of his mind he’d agreed to bed her. Multiple times if necessary.

  His blood rose. He’d endured worse assignments.

  Holding her gaze, he loosened his belt and laid his weapon aside. Her cheeks flushed, then blazed and he suppressed a smile. “Was this not what you had in mind?”

>   She laid her hand over his. He hadn’t expected her touch to be so soft and light. A question settled across her face.

  “What is it, Sariah?” he asked, using her name.

  She let loose her request. “Will you be kind to me?”

  Had she not said this, the night would have proceeded without much forethought. The fear in her voice gave him pause, reminded him she had once been someone’s daughter, a sister to four others, as he had sisters of his own.

  “Yes, I will be kind.” He wrapped his fingers around her hand. “We have agreed.”

  A curt nod and she stepped away to recline on the edge of the bed. He ran his fingers over the satin bedclothes. Left to his own devices, Titus would never touch material as fine as this. Riches were not his lot in life.

  Or beautiful women. As Sariah shrugged off her outer garment, leaving her wrapped in thin silk, he drank her in. The outline of her lovely body brought his blood to a slow boil.

  He might explode before he ever touched her, which would be a damn shame.

  SARIAH WONDERED ABOUT his age. How much of the world had Titus seen, with how many women had he lain? He had keyed in on her desire to be free with little trouble, perceptive and scheming all at once.

  Yes, she understood this much of him.

  He disrobed in front of her, his confidence evident in the way he moved. No lesson could have prepared her for the moment she saw her first aroused, naked man, his erection on display, needing to be satiated.

  Something primal sparked in her blood. Her knees shook and she took refuge on the bed, shivering as her limbs skimmed the silk. Her robe parted in front and she let the fabric fall from her shoulders as he sat beside her.

  She struggled to breathe while her heart knocked against her ribs. This would only happen one time and could not be undone. She choked on the gravity of the moment, shared not with a husband or lover but a complete stranger.

  Tears rushed her gaze. Could she enjoy any part of this night?

  “Sariah,” he offered, his hand covering hers. “Don’t cry.”