"I did mean everything I said," he told her, speaking quickly. "I want him to understand that. For him I would risk perdition, but for no one else."
"Drosos, if Belisarius is as devoted to the Emperor as you are and for the same reasons, he will not permit you to act on his behalf. He might not permit it in any case, for he is protective of his men." She wanted to move closer to him, to offer him what little comfort she could, but she remained where she was, watching him.
"Yes," he said, frowning. "But I must try; I have to find out. You understand, don't you?" This last was a plea, and she felt his anguish.
"I understand. And I will do what I can. Trust me, Drosos. I will find out whatever you need to know, and I will not expose you or Belisarius or myself to any risk beyond the risk of speaking to a man in disgrace." She held out her hand. "Is that enough, Drosos? Will that suffice?"
"I don't know," he said ruefully. He stared at her, respect in his deep brown eyes.
"You're honest, at least," she said, waiting for him to touch her.
"You are willing to take a great chance for me," he said as if aware of it for the first time.
At another time she might have shrugged this off, finding an easy dismissal, but there was something in his face that stopped her. "I value you more than the risk, Drosos."
"I never…"He took three hasty steps toward her. "I didn't realize what…"
"Then you weren't paying attention," she teased him.
"Do you believe that?" he countered, his hands on her shoulders. "Do you?"
"You were paying attention to other things," she said, her eyes half-closed as she studied him. "You have had so many things on your mind."
"You're a sorceress," he said, his hands holding her more tightly.
"No," she said, "and that is one jest that might be dangerous."
He nodded, sobered. "I wish it weren't so. You're enchanting. Will that do?" He pulled her to him, his lips against her brow. "What is it about you? Why do you possess me this way? What makes you so much more than any other woman?"
She wondered briefly if she ought to answer him, but she could not bring herself to do much more than say, "Why are you unlike other men? Why do I prefer you to anyone else?"
He kissed her abruptly, his mouth hard on hers, his arms confining her. As he drew back, he would not release her, but kept his grip on her, as if he feared she would escape him.
"Drosos," she said softly, and kissed the corner of his mouth for punctuation. "Do not fret."
His expression relaxed a bit. "Is that what I'm doing?"
"Isn't it?" She slid her arms from around his waist and lifted them so that her hands touched at the back of his neck. "You are so mercurial."
"Me?" he said with surprise. "I'm steady as a rock. Mercurial!" he scoffed.
"You are, you know," she told him, her voice little more than a whisper.
"It's because of you. You do things to me, make me feel things, and then I don't know myself anymore." He was not desperate now, but there was a look to him that would have brought tears to her eyes had she been able to weep.
"That's a wonderful gift to give me," she said, and this time kissed him with passion, leaning into him so that she could feel his body through his clothes.
He was breathing more quickly when they moved apart, and as she stepped back, he kept one hand on her, as if parting from her was unbearable. "Which room?" he asked as she started toward the door.
"Mine, of course," she said, smiling back at him. "There are fresh roses and a vial of perfume and sweet oils in my room."
"Decadent. So decadent." He made the word an endearment.
"Roman," she concurred.
"Roses and perfume and oil," he said as they entered the hallway.
"Yes."
He stopped and drew her to him again, his lips lingering on hers, then brushing her cheek, her eyes, her hair. "Why didn't I do this when I first arrived?" he wondered aloud.
"Because you didn't want to," she said honestly.
"More fool me," he murmured, his hands fumbling with her paenula. "You don't have anything on under this, do you?"
"No," she admitted.
"Shameless, too." He nuzzled her neck, then gently caught her earlobe between his teeth.
"Careful," she warned him playfully.
"Why? you do it to me."
"That's different," she said, moving back a step and taking his hand. "Come. We don't want to entertain the servants."
He laughed aloud. "Of course not," he said, trying to sound prim and failing.
At the door of her bedroom, they kissed again, more intensely, tongues exploring, hands spread wide and moving over backs and shoulders. "For love of—"
"You," he finished for her.
"Of Aphrodite," she corrected, although it was not what she had intended to say at first. "Inside, and get out of those clothes. You are going to madden me if you make me wait too long for you."
"Will you rage and pull out your hair?" he prompted.
"No, I will seize heavy objects and throw them at you," she promised. "Inside."
Chuckling he allowed himself to be tugged through the door, and once it was closed, he reached to her tablion to unfasten it. "Let me. I want—" He could not speak of what he wanted; his eyes were eloquent, his hands explained, his mouth formed a poetry that was more sublime for its lack of words.
Olivia, carried by his passion, felt a wonderful stillness about her, a rapture that was so complete that it suspended both of them with its enormity and its tenderness. She opened all of herself to him, so that when he entered her he penetrated much more than her body. It was the sweetest de.lirium to move with him, to know his savor and weight, his fervor, his ecstasy. She was imbued with his ardor, discovering an awe within herself that had remained inaccessible until now.
As Drosos plunged into release, Olivia found her fulfillment, and so immense was their joy together that her special appetite was gratified almost as soon as her mouth touched him.
They remained as they had been, flesh held by flesh, now unmoving, neither willing to sacrifice their intimacy by separating even to lie in each other's arms.
Olivia looked up into his face, her desires so replete that she could say or do nothing that could add to her bliss. She could feel a thin ribbon of sweat down her ribs and another on her shoulder, and wondered idly if it might be hers as well as his. Damp tendrils of hair clung to her face and the smell of their passion blended with the scent of the roses around them.
They kissed slowly, their lips so sensitive that they barely grazed; exquisite sensations surged through them.
He started to speak, but she stopped the words with her lips, longing to sustain their glorious, prodigal delight. "I must be squashing you," he whispered some while later.
Reluctantly Olivia let herself slip from passion to contentment. "I don't mind."
"Um." He plucked a few stray hairs from his beard off her cheek. "I can't stay in anymore," he said with regret.
Finally they rolled to the side, still together, though the intoxication of their union no longer consumed them.
"Let me move my arm," she offered, shifting so that they would both be more comfortable.
They lay together, her head on his shoulder, her leg over his thigh, the hair of his chest making patterns on her skin. Their hands were joined.
"Every time I think that it cannot be better than the last, and every time it is," he said when he was starting to drift into sleep.
She turned her head so that her lips pressed his shoulder.
"Olivia?" he whispered a little later.
"Yes?"
"In two months, I am being sent to Alexandria." There was devastation in his words.
She felt her throat tighten. "Alexandria?"
"In Egypt," he explained.
"I know where it is," she said, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice.
"So anything that is going to happen has to be before then." He made an angry slash with his free arm. "I'm a toad!"
"Shhush," she admonished him.
But he could not stop. "I shouldn't have said that. It wasn't what I meant. I wanted to tell you all the things in my heart. I wanted you to know what you give to me. I didn't want to say anything about plots or Alexandria, and I did both."
Olivia moved onto her elbow and looked down at him. "It's all right, Drosos," she assured him, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt.
"I was going to say something later, when we'd slept, when it wouldn't matter as much." His fingers sought her face, tracing the planes of it.
"It would matter whenever you said it." She bent her head and kissed his nipple. "And it doesn't change what we have together."
"It doesn't?" he pleaded.
